Conservation and Indigenous Peoples the Adoption of the Ecological Noble Savage Discourse and Its Political Consequences

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Sarah Rodrigue-Allouche

Conservation and Indigenous Peoples The adoption of the ecological noble savage discourse and its political consequences

Master’s thesis in Global Environmental History

Abstract Rodrigue-Allouche, S. 2015. Conservation and indigenous peoples, the adoption of the ecological noble savage discourse and its political consequences. Uppsala, Dept of Archaeology and Ancient History.

In this thesis, I shall follow the lead of many environmental scholars who stated that the constructed dualism between Nature and humans have had serious consequences for indigenous peoples worldwide in areas impacted by colonization. I will consider the essentialism that has been directed towards indigenous populations, and more specifically positive essentialism expressing itself in the myth of the ecological noble savage. I will discuss how the idea of land stewardship has been used as a political tool by different stakeholders, thus jeopardizing the very right to self-determination. Finally, I will contend that the tool of ecological nobility cannot provide indigenous peoples with the human rights they deserve as members of humanity, notably land rights. I will argue for an ethical environmentalism, one in which all peoples are expected to participate in the same way.

Keywords: Indigenous, Conservation, Essentialism, Eco-nobility, Land-rights

Master’s thesis in Global Environmental History (60 credits), supervisor: Anneli Ekblom, © Sarah Rodrigue-Allouche Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, Uppsala University, Box 626, 75126 Uppsala, Sweden

Thesis acknowledgements I would like to take the opportunity here to thank a few people for the realisation of this work. First, I want to thank my supervisor and program coordinator Anneli Ekblom for her patience and constructive feedback. I thank the Uppsala University International Office for giving me the chance to study abroad in Australia and gain new understandings that have determined my thesis work. Special thanks to Anna Borgstrom from the Language Department for her astute insights. Also thank you to Kenneth Worthy and Flora Lu Holt, great teachers at UC Santa Cruz.

On a more personal note, I would like to thank my family members for their support, especially my parents Catherine and Philippe, my sisters Déborah and Eve, and my aunt and uncle Pascale and Bruno Hayem for enabling me to use their apartment for my work, I thank my friends in Australia especially Liza Smith, Sue Ellen Simic and the St Mark’s girls, I thank my friends in Sweden whose help and support have been decisive in my work, particularly Fredrik Olsson, Isabelle Moreno di Palma and Eva Myhrman.

Finally, I dedicate this thesis to a woman who stood in my journey as light in the darkness, Maria Attard.

John F. Kennedy [Commencement Address at Yale University, June 11 1962]

“The great enemy of truth is very often not the lie--deliberate, contrived and dishonest--but the myth--persistent, persuasive and unrealistic. Too often we hold fast to the clichés of our fore- bears. We subject all facts to a prefabricated set of interpretations. We enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.

Contents

Introduction ...... 7 Conservation, a short history (from discrimination to inclusion) ...... 7 Indigenous: a brief historiography (from colonial definition to self-determination) ...... 8 The issue of essentialism (the ecological noble savage myth) ...... 11 Questions & Aims ...... 12 Thesis outline ...... 13 Methodology ...... 13 PART I Discourses regarding Indigenous peoples ...... 14 A. Dichotomies leading to essentialism ...... 14 1. Dichotomies between man and nature ...... 14 2. The civilised vs the wild ...... 18 3. The ambivalence towards wild peoples: conservation racism ...... 20 B. The ecological noble savage: a variant of essentialism ...... 24 1. Indigenous peoples and their environment: intentional or epiphenomenal conservation? ...... 24 2. Indigenous peoples, merely humans ...... 26 3. Eco-noble savage: essentialism and epistemological racism ...... 28 Part II How has land stewardship been used as a political tool? The responsibility put upon indigenous peoples and the issue of self-determination ...... 32 A- Intentional hybridity and the myth of the noble savage ...... 32 1. Worldviews in which conservation is a foreign concept ...... 32 2. The catch-22 of conservation ...... 35 3. What is intentional hybridity? ...... 38 B - Eco-nobility as a political tool, special status and TEK used in global environmental governance: community-based conservation, responsibility, dangers and risks of essentialism ...... 41 1. Eco-nobility: a dangerous tool ...... 41 2. Community-based conservation, a revival of old ghosts ...... 44 3. Traditional Ecological Knowledge, conservation programmes and the right to self- determination ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. Part III - Land management, indigenous activism and the ENS myth: comparison between Kayapo and Yolngu ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. A- The case of the Kayapo Indians ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 1. Context ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 2. Alliance between Kayapo and NGOs ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 3. Ecological noble savagery and its pitfalls ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. B- A different case: Aboriginal activism in Australia and the success of the Dhimurru IPA in Arnhem Land...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 1. Aboriginal activism: based on democracy and human-rights...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 2. A mercurial aboriginal identity ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. 3. Yolngu people and the success of the Dhimurru IPA ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini. CONCLUSION ...... Erreur ! Signet non défini.

INTRODUCTION

When environmentalism emerged as a philosophy in the 19th century, with United States as one of the fore-runners of nature conservation, its philosophy partly relied on a dichotomy between man and nature and an illusory worship of a pristine wilderness. It has been said that modernity has strengthened dichotomies between reason and belief, between science and instinct, between human and non-human nature, upon which much of our contemporary societies rest (see Latour 1999, Merchant 1980; Adorno and Horkheimer 1947). Thus, in many ways, the environmental movement stands as a product of modernity. The dichotomy between man and nature that is embedded in nature conservation has brought two alternatives for indigenous peoples in colonized countries when negotiating conservation. In- deed, although recent ecological research has abundantly demonstrated that all landscapes are more or less anthropogenic (see for example Foster 2000), a few early environmentalists spread the belief that wilderness shall be free of people in order to survive. The idea that man represents a threat to nature paradoxically has coexisted with the idea that some people, the “savages”, were an inherent part of the wild. It seems that across the world, two forms of “science fictions”, the myth of wilderness and the one of incompetent land use by indigenous peoples, have been correlated to epistemological racism (Langton 1998). Such an inherent racism characterized European societies until the second half of the twentieth century, and was coupled with the worship of an illusory pristine wilderness. This vested indigenous peoples in colonized states two alternative identities, either as part of the wild and thus intrinsically different from the White man, or a threat to the survival of nature. Essentialism towards indigenous peoples characterized early conservation discourse and jeopardized the respect of their most basic human rights as I will show here. In certain instances, Native Americans were part of the wilderness attraction as in the early days of Yosemite where they were performing traditional dances for tourists (Spence 1996) and Namibian Bushmen were fenced in protected areas like an endangered species to protect (Lind- holm 2015). In other instances, they were removed from their lands for the implementation of national parks as in Yellowstone 1872 (Colchester 2004). The later part of the twentieth century witnessed several paradigm shifts; racist ideologies gradually crumbled, and post-modernism discredited dichotomies. Thus, conservation took on a different face with preference of policies aiming at bridging the gap between nature protection and human development enhancement, attributing a more prominent part to indigenous peoples and community-based conservation. The UNESCO launched the Man and the Biosphere program in the late 1960s (Borgerhoff Mulder and Coppolillo 2005) which was aimed at conservation with people. This shift progressively led to the 1992 Fourth World Parks Congress in Caracas which emphasized local and indigenous peoples’ rights and fostered the revision of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature protected area categories enabling ownership and management of protected areas by indigenous peoples (idem., p. 185).

Conservation, a short history (from discrimination to inclusion) Conservation is a problematic concept because of its historical baggage; it first embraced protection from men’s impact and then landscape management. Conservation policies were initially implemented in the United States where at the end of the 19th century, the severe depletion of natural resources was no longer deniable (Borgerhoff Mulder and Coppolillo 2005). In 1891, the 7

US Congress adopted the Forest Reserve Act and Theodore Roosevelt, in office from 1901 to 1909, established 13 new forest reserves during his first year in office (idem.). Forests reserves were at the beginning set aside from commercial logging, but the concept took on a new definition during the early 20th century as forester Gifford Pinchot advocated the management of forests in order to enhance forest production in terms of, as he stated: “highest use: the greatest good for the greatest number”. This utilitarian view was rejected by those preaching nature’s intrinsic value, for instance the Scottish-American writer John Muir, and an ideological war sur- faced within what became two conservation movements; utilitarianism and protectionism, a debate which has lasted until present. However, many scholars have demonstrated that the debate between utilitarianism and protectionism is based on a crumbling paradigm: the idea that we have to choose between protecting nature and utilizing its resources is illusory. Actually, human management and biodiversity enhancement often go hand in hand (see for instance Posey 2002, Balée 2006, Foster 2000, Anderson and Posey 1989),). In the tradition of John Muir who argued that wilderness areas should be set aside for recreation to fulfil an emotional need for wild places (Colchester 2004), protected areas have constituted a central element of conservation policies since the end of the 19th century. Between the establishment of Yellowstone National Park in 1872 and the early 1960s, 10 000 protected areas were proclaimed (UN 2009: 91). In many parts of the world, national parks have denied indigenous peoples their rights, and this model of colonial conservation caused and continues to cause widespread human suffering (idem.). In the late 1980s and early 1990s a new trend promoting community-based conservation emerged as a way of integrating conservation and development. The 2010 United Nations (UN 2009: 92) State of Indigenous Peoples report affirmed that today’s conservationists must collaborate with indigenous communities through the statement that conservation “can and must be achieved in collaboration with indigenous peoples and based on respect for their internationally recognized rights”. Although most contemporary conservationists no longer advocate the preservation of a pristine nature but instead embrace that indigenous communities can be good conservationists, the ghosts of early conservation’s paradigms might still be present in contemporary debates, and this is something that I will explore in this thesis. In the book Conservation: linking ecology, economy and culture (2005), anthropologist Borgerhoff Mulder and ecologist Coppolillo stated that even though various compromises had been reached throughout the long and turbulent history of the debate of community involvement and nature conservation, advocates of ‘conservation first’ and ‘people first’ still confront each other (preface: xiv). Because immobility in nature does not exist, Borgerhoff Mulder and Coppolillo (2005: 24), believe that today’s conservation should be “neutral”, accepting the change and dynamism that is inherent to nature. However, if conservation policies today aim at bridging the gap between people and nature, there is one core problem in the juxtaposition between conservation and indigenous discourses: the controversial character of the term ‘indigenous’. Because of the term’s ambivalence, many scholars and activists have replaced it with ‘local’, ‘traditional’, and ‘resident’ in order to refer to communities outside of the national population’s mainstream (Borgerhoff Mulder and Coppolillo, 2005: 185). For the sake of clarity and brevity, I shall not develop here on the problems embedded within the terms ‘local’, ‘traditional’ and ‘resident’ but will critically discuss the discourse juxtaposing the controversial terms of ‘conservation’ and ‘indigenous’ and question the essentialism beneath it.

Indigenous: a brief historiography (from colonial definition to self- determination) Originally a term used by colonizers in order to diminish and homogenize the peoples they encountered – just as the word “aborigine” in Australia (McGloin 2015) –the term ‘indigenous’ 8 inspired a worldwide movement in the 1960s and 1970s as decolonisation spurred a general growth in reclaiming identities (UN 2009: 2). The definition of indigenous has evolved considerably during the last decades. In the forty-year history of indigenous issues at the UN, and their even longer history at the International Labor Organization (ILO), much thinking and debate have been devoted to the question of the definition or understanding of ‘indigenous peoples’. But no such universal definition has ever been adopted by any UN system body (United Nations permanent forum on Indigenous Issues). One the most cited definition was formulated by the Special Rapporteur Jose R. Martinez Cobo in his study on the problem of discrimination against Indigenous Populations. This study defines indigenous peoples and nations, as: “those which, having a historical continuity with pre-invasion and pre-colonial societies that developed on their territories, consider themselves distinct from other sectors of the societies now prevailing on those territories, or parts of them” (Martinez Cobo 1986/7 paras 379-382, quoted in UN 2004). Jose R. Martinez Cobo put special emphasis on historical continuity, which he defined as “occupation of ancestral lands, or at least part of them; common ancestry with the original occupants of these lands” for instance (idem.). The historical continuity line is also widely embraced in defining indigenous communities The use of historical continuity for defining land rights has however been challenged by in British anthropologist Tim Ingold (2000) in his paper Ancestry, generation, substance, memory, land. In particular, Ingold is critical to the UN definition that: “Indigenous or aboriginal peoples are so-called because they were living on their lands before settlers came from elsewhere” (United Nations 1997: 3 in Ingold 2000). To Ingold, the historical ancestry definition merely reflects a Eurocentric image of the precolonial world as if the world resembled a fixed mosaic before colonization. The official organs of the United Nations and the ILO relate the term indigenous with the concept of descent (“indigenous peoples are the descendants of those who inhabited a country or a geographical region at the time when people of different cultures or ethnic origins arrived” (idem.). However, Ingold questioned the genealogical model prevailing in the Western worldview. Instead, he suggested to replace the genealogical model that had prevailed in the intellectual history of the Western world with the relational model in order to better understand the concepts tied to indigeneity: ancestry, generation, substance, memory, land. Here, Ingold draws on Erica-Irene Daes who, on behalf on the Working Group on Indigenous Populations established in 1982, under the auspices of the United Nations, contended that indigenous identity is not something rooted in the past but rather embedded in a dynamic relationship to the land. Daes writes that indigenous peoples consider all human products as interconnected, be it the relationships between people and land, or the kinship with other living beings sharing the land (quoted in Ingold 2000). Daes emphasized that indigenous peoples understand the world through a relational model instead of a linear model. Building on Daes’ postulate, Ingold declared that indigenous identity has nothing to do with the fact that a certain place was home to a population prior to its colonial settlement but is based on the relational model of constant and dynamic interaction with ancestors, not on a figment identity connected to a distant past. Recently the term ‘indigenous’ has come to proudly designate a singular identity in sharp opposition to the mainstream western worldview. The concept of “indigeneity” today refers to an activist and political commitment to pass on local peoples’ rich cultural millenary heritages. For instance, Peruvian scholar and activist Tirso Gonzalez is a good representative of a recent trend in scholarly debate arguing for a global indigeneity based on autonomy and self-determination as well as active participation in conservation policies and management of natural resources. The word indigenous thus has shifted from its etymological supposition of locality (the word ‘indigenous’ merely means ‘native from a land’) to a global shared struggle between around-the-world 9 descendants of those formerly or presently persecuted by colonizers. Australian anthropologist Francesca Merlan (2009, 304) stated that the meaning of indigeneity has expanded to define an international category of peoples who, because of inhumane, exclusionary and unequal treatment, have great moral claims on nation-states and international society. Those peoples share a history of settlement, colonisation and marginalisation. Merlan, in this statement, points at the similarities in the history of settlement and explains that indigeneity today refers to peoples who because of their common history of persecution have collective moral claims on nation-states and on international society. Using the same language than colonial states enables indigenous peoples worldwide to express their legitimacy in terms of past descent on land (Ingold 2000). Eventually, self-definition has become the most prominent feature in the definition of indigenous identity. In effect, during the many years of debate at the Working Group on Indigenous Popula- tions, observers from indigenous organisations developed a common position in order to reject the idea of a formal international definition of indigenous peoples (UN 2009: 5). Exploring the idea of a self-defined Aboriginality at the Wentworth lecture (1993), indigenous Australian scholar Michael Dodson expressed a worldwide indigenous claim for the right to self-definition after centuries of being defined as the ‘other’. Dodson emphasised that each people should be free to self-determine and should own the right to self-definition in order to be free from control and manipulation of an alien people. The right to self-definition must include the right to inherit the collective identity of one’s people and the possibility to transform that identity creatively in accordance with the self-defined aspirations of one’s people and one’s own generation. Self- definition must include the freedom to live outside the cage erected by other peoples’ images and projections (Dodson 1993). Here Dodson emphasized the correlation between the right to self-definition and the freedom from control of an alien people. Dodson claims the right to a dynamic identity, thus reflecting a relational worldview (as advocated by Ingold above) instead of a linear worldview. The malleability of the definition of indigenous and the fact that the indigenous status constitutes a potent political tool have led tribal groups around the world to claim themselves as indigenous, despite of the colonial baggage of the term. The 2007 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UN 2008), states in article 26 that: “Indigenous peoples have the right to the lands, territories and resources which they have traditionally owned, occupied or otherwise used or acquired.”, Thus as is shown by the article 26 in the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples the indigenous status is strongly correlated to land rights claims, something which explains the interest in communities to advocate themselves as indigenous. To sum up, although earlier definitions of indigenous identity were embedded in a Eurocentric worldview, today the understanding of indigenous identity is much closer to what Ingold referred to as the relational model. Indeed, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples does not offer a definition of indigenous but its article 33 emphasizes the importance of self-definition and the convention also acknowledge that “indigenous identity is not exclusively determined by European colonization” (UN 2009: 6). The UN 2009 report State of the World’s Indigenous Peo- ples stated that indigenous identity relates more to a set of characteristics and practices than priority of arrival (UN 2009: 54). In Africa for instance, because of the extensive and complicated history of human migration, being accepted as an indigenous people does not require fulfilment of teh criteria to be the first peoples in a land. Several populations of nomadic peoples such as the Tuareg of the Sahara and Sahel regions inhabit areas in which they arrived comparatively recently, and their claim to indigenous identity status is solely based on their marginalization as nomadic peoples in states and territories dominated by sedentary agricultural peoples; but his

10 does not prevent them from identifying them with the land to which they have become spiritually attached (idem.). The term indigenous has thus been characterized by a growing flexibility, as Merlan (2009: 303) emphasizes in reference to Nyamjoh’s work in Africa that shows that indigeneity in Africa is claimed in ways that are very different with international understandings of indigenous (and that may even be in conflict with them). The centrality of land in the lives of indigenous peoples has been recognised by the United Nations and has become a prominent criteria of indigeneity. However, the special relationship to the land that characterizes indigenous identity might not be devoid of essentialism.

The issue of essentialism (the ecological noble savage myth) The noble savage myth stated that mankind is intrinsically good at the primitive state but that civilization degrades him/her. This myth, which raised many debates about man’s true nature, served as a concealed critic of Western society from the 17th century onward and was based on the dichotomy between man at the state of nature and man in civilisation. Although the origins of the term are attributed to Swiss philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the term ‘Noble Savage’ was coined by the French explorer and lawyer Marc Lescarbot in his New World writings in 1609 (see Ellingson 2001). Today, as will be shown here this myth is still prevalent in conservation. From the onset of conservation, some white American conservationists praised Native Ameri- cans for what they interpreted as a conservationist and sustainable lifestyle and what they perceived as ecological practices and spiritual beliefs. Although this rapprochement between environmentalists and Indigenous peoples might seem absolutely laudable, this is what critiques have called the ʻEcologically Noble Savage mythʼ (dubbed by Redford 1990). The ecologically noble savage myth has given rise to a potent political tool for indigenous peoples and their conservationist supporters which comes with many pitfalls (see discussion in Buege 1996). It has been abundantly argued that the Ecologically Noble Savage myth as well as that of eco-nobility conceals racism, hegemony and neocolonialism (see for instance Nadasdy 2005). The danger is that by promoting an image of an ecologically noble Indian, environmentalists engage in essentialist practices and impose a view of Indigeneity that is static and unable to evolve. This fundamentally denies the right to self-determination to Indigenous people. Besides the need to allow self- determination amongst Indigenous people unconstrained by outside stereotypes of ecological nobility, it is also important, in the middle of a planetary ecological crisis, to create a more inclusive approach to protecting our planet. In a highly globalized and threatened world, the aim of protecting our planet should be a common endeavour between all peoples, and not the duty of falsely stereotyped stewards of the land. Due to the international indigenous movement’s efforts, indigenous peoples were included as a “major group” within the 1992 Rio Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED), commonly referred to as the Earth Summit, movement, and their specific relationship with the environment was officially recognized (UN 2009: 99). Indigenous peoples prepared for UNCED as thoroughly and extensively as any state, forming a single stakeholder amongst the international community (UN 2009: 85). Out of the UNCED Process came Agenda 21, a 300-page plan for achieving sustainable development in the 21st century, which formally acknowledged the role of indigenous peoples in sustainable development stating that (Agenda 21, 1992, chapter 26.1): “In view of the interrelationship between the natural environment and its sustainable development and the cultural, social, economic and physical well-being of indigenous people, national and interna-

tional efforts to implement environmentally sound and sustainable development should recognize, accommodate, promote and strengthen the role of indigenous peoples and their communities” (quoted in UN 2009: 100). In its preamble, the UN Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD 1992) also recognises “the close and traditional dependence of indigenous and local communities on biological diversity Article 8 states that a party shall: “respect, preserve and maintain knowledge, innovations and practices of indigenous and local communities embodying traditional lifestyles relevant for the conservation and sustainable use of biological diversity and promote their wider application with the approval and involvement of the holders of such knowledge.” (quoted in UN 2009: 100). Thus, the belief that indigenous peoples stand closer to nature and that indigenous traditional lifestyles shall be sustained, as expressed in the CBD quote above, are presently embedded within environmental governance since the CBD regulates international nature conservation. The ecological noble savage myth thus seems rooted in global politics. The political dimension of alliances between environmentalists and Indigenous people has direct consequences for land rights although the right to call a place home is a basic human right which has nothing to do with conservationist attitudes. The same essentialism that has characterized the myth of the Noble Savage might currently characterize the belief in community conservation, as is suggested by the idealization of communities as homogeneous and harmonious entities (Agrawal 1997). It has been said (Colchester 2004) that protected areas still continue to be imposed according to the colonial model, calling into question the extent to which conservation has taken on a human face. In this thesis, I will repeatedly ask the question whether the colonial model persists because the Ecological Noble Savage myth remains embedded in environmental politics. In this thesis, I will suggest and give case study examples that the special role of indigenous peoples in the global ecological crisis renders indigenous peoples more vulnerable to the critic of western policy- makers. It seems that the expectations put on them differ from expectations put on other peoples, which might be a case of epistemological racism.

Questions & Aims This thesis will revolve around a number of problems. Through a review of literature and case studies I pose the overall question: To what extent have conservationists been putting responsibility of nature protection on indigenous peoples? To what extent have indigenous peoples made use of this responsibility as a political tool for land rights acquisition? What are the problems embedded in this responsibility? More specifically I will build an analyses around the research questions: 1) How has the conservation discourse evolved regarding Indigenous peoples? ; 2) How has land stewardship been used as a political tool? ; 3) What are the problems and positive side-effects embedded in the responsibility of land management for indigenous peoples? Many Indigenous peoples have made the voluntary choice to take responsibility for protecting biodiversity within the frame of community-based conservation, which is a way for them to empower themselves and their traditional ecological knowledge. For instance, the Kayapo Amerin- dians inhabiting Central Brazil have been confronted with various kinds of threats to their environment in the later part of the twentieth century (Turner 1993, Zimmerman 2010). They have managed to acquire more political rights on their traditional lands by making use of the environ-

12 mentalist discourse, which have rendered them more vulnerable to international criticism (Red- ford and Stearman 1993; Fisher 1994; Chernela and Zanotti 2014). In this thesis I suggest to draw a comparison between the Brazilian Kayapo and the case of the Yolngu people of Arnhem Land in Australia’s Northern Territory, who acquired land rights as early as 1976 under the Aboriginal Land Rights (NT) Act 1976 recognizing aboriginal traditional owners the ownership of their lands. The establishment of Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation in 1992, and later of the Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area in 2000, have enabled the Yolngu people to become official managers of natural resources on their lands and thus to gain more credibility and power in front of the Australian government. Thus, I suggest that the fact that Yolngu people did not base their discourse on the crumbling argument of eco-nobility but rather on historical and legal arguments in the first place have allowed them to make better use of the concept of community-based conservation. I will argue here that community-based conservation should complement indigenous land rights, not constitute their only basis. Indigenous peoples are neither a threat to Nature, nor the guardians of the forest. They are complex peoples, whose beliefs, customs and practices has evolved throughout times. In this paper, I will argue that although the conservation discourse towards Indigenous peoples has drastically evolved throughout the twentieth century (from segregation and exclusion to cooperation and partnership), old ghosts of essentialism and dichotomies might still be embedded in current conservation discourse. My thesis is that although community-based conservation and natural resource management can be very effective tools for the acquisition of rights on indigenous traditional lands, indigenous peoples’ rights to land should not rely on the utilization of the noble savage myth.

Thesis outline In order to answer the questions formulated above, the thesis is divided into three sections. In the first part (part I) I will discuss the drastic evolution of the conservation discourse towards indigenous peoples. In the second part (part 2) I will investigate how land stewardship has been used by indigenous peoples worldwide as a political tool. Finally, in part 3, I will discuss the positive as well as negative side-effects embedded in indigenous responsibility for land management. In order to support my argument, I will draw on a case-study comparing the rhetoric used by Ama- zonian Indians (specifically the Kayapo Brazilians) and Australian Aboriginal peoples (specifically the Arnhem Land’s Yolngu people) as discussed above. I shall discuss the power dynamics at play in the activist world, as well as the political consequences of alliances between conservationists and Indigenous peoples and their significance for land rights acquisition.

Methodology I will analyse the discourses of different stakeholders (indigenous peoples, conservationists, policy-makers, especially the United Nations) through a selective review of relevant literature fo- cusing on the academic discourse itself; e.g. what and how researchers have discussed the topic of conservation and indigenous identity. I will specifically investigate the Kayapo and Yolngu discourses (notably through the analysis of their respective media communication). Given the length and scope of this as a Ma- thesis, I will not be able to fully answer the questions posed here but I hope to get some hints of the political consequences of the ecological noble savage discourse through my selective analysis.

PART I Discourses regarding Indigenous peoples

The discourse of conservationists towards indigenous peoples has significantly evolved throughout time, from a trend of exclusion and discrimination towards a trend of inclusion and attribu- tion of responsibilities. Here, I suggest that the discourse of conservationists towards indigenous peoples has mainly been relying on dichotomies and essentialism. Although this essentialism has taken on various forms and has shifted from a negative form to a positive one, it is nonetheless still relying on the same dichotomies. I will first review the dichotomies between Nature and people that led to essentialism regarding indigenous peoples, then I will review the earliest form of essentialism towards indigenous peoples that plain racism embodies, then finally I will discuss the latter form of this essentialism, namely the idealization and the image of the ecologically noble savage (Redford 1990) which is nothing less than a myth.

A. Dichotomies leading to essentialism

1. Dichotomies between man and nature Western worldview is characterised by a fierce dichotomy between man and nature. Indeed, a deep ambivalence towards Nature has characterized Western thinking throughout ages, as environmental philosophers such as Carolyn Merchant or Kenneth Worthy have discussed (see Mer- chant’s The Death of Nature 1980 or Worthy’s Invisible Nature 2013). Paradoxically, Nature has appeared simultaneously as a source of evil and as a refuge from the ills of city life, something to fear and revere at the same time. Canadian journalist Mark Dowie (2009) discusses the ambivalence towards Nature since the Western civilization’s origins. Dowie (idem.) starts with mention- ing the epic of Gilgamesh, an ancient Mesopotamian tale which stands as one of the first humanity’s great literary works relating the struggle between civilization and the forest, represented in Gilgamesh as the source of all evil. Although Gilgamesh must fight and conquer the wild, Gilgamesh declares some the ambivalence at the same time as he exclaims that: “in the city man dies with despair in his heart”, implying that nature brings peace of mind (quoted in Dowie 2009: 91). The cultural construction of nature can also be found throughout various utopian visions embodied by the “Arcadia”. The etymology of the word comes from the Greek province of the same name which embodied a vision of an unspoiled wilderness. In Landscape and Memory (1995), British historian Simon Schama describes two kinds of Arcadia, one is a place of bucolic leisure and the other a place of primitive panic (Schama 1995: 517) thus underlining the ambivalence of men towards nature Although the wilderness could be pictured as a source of danger throughout human history, the Romantic Movement which emerged in the eighteenth century and flourished throughout the nineteenth, pictured nature as the source of all good. It is this romanticized view of nature that accompanied many pioneers on the American continent, reflected in early environmentalists’ writings. The vastness of the seemingly empty landscapes, vast forests and unknown wild animals embodied the dream of a pristine Nature, and of virgin territories. For white Americans, the frontier enabled pioneer aspirations to come true. In opposition to Europe, where massive deforestation had been shaping the landscape since the Middle-Ages, the United States still appeared as fresh new lands to be conquered during the nineteenth century. The reality that indigenous

14 peoples had been living there for thousands of years shaping the environment was ignored, perhaps because this fact ruined the illusion of setting foot on a virgin territory. The Scottish-American romantic writer and naturalist John Muir, introduced in Chapter 1, was formative in nature conservation. Muir, was born in Scotland in 1838 and his parents immigrated to the United States in Wisconsin in 1849. He significantly contributed to the emergence of the environmental movement in the US and played a key role in the establishment of Yosemite Na- tional Park in 1890, by helping to draw its boundaries, writing the magazine articles that led to its creation and by co-founding the Sierra Club to protect it (Fleck 1978). Muir spent spent a summer in the Sierra mountains in western USA working for Mr. Delaney, a sheep-owner. This experience enabled Muir to study plants, rocks and scenery and to camp in the Sierra. In Muir’s diary My first summer in the Sierra (1911) he recounts his experiences in the Sierra expressing here his deep admiration and veneration for Nature, almost personifying Nature as a divine entity, thus separate from the human condition. Muir recounts his adventures in the Sierra with a poetic style1 in a characteristic worship of the wilderness as is exemplified in the two quotes below: “(June 9) How deep our sleep last night in the mountains’ heart, beneath the trees and stars, hushed by solemn-sounding waterfalls and many small soothing voices in sweet accord whispering peace! And our first pure mountain day, warm, calm, cloudless, - how immeasurable, it seems, how serenely wild!” (Muir 1911, 42) “(July 2) Warm, sunny day, thrilling plant and animals and rocks alike, making sap and blood flow fast, and making every particle of the crystal mountains throb and swirl and dance in glad accord like star-dust. No dullness anywhere visible or thinkable. No stag- nation, no death. Everything kept in joyful rhythmic motion in the pulses of Nature’s big heart” (Muir 1911: 98)

However, as the romanticised view of Nature emerged in opposition to the condemnation of Nature as wild, brutish and knavish, it also brought about the moral problems posed by simplistic dichotomies. Americans would seek salvation in wildernesses, from which they had carefully and brutally expelled the ‘savages’ (see Cronon 1996). Thoreau, another important person in shaping conservation, eventually realised that it was vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves, as reflected in the quote when he writes about wildness: “There is none such. It is the bog in our brains and bowels, the primitive vigor of nature in us that inspires that dream.” (Henry David Thoreau, Journal, August 30, 1856, quoted in Cronon 1996) But despite Thoreau’s realisation, the idea that humanity stands apart from nature remained deeply rooted in the Western mind. Dowie underscored this difference between Western and indigenous cultures stating that the cultures which have remained isolated from Judeo-Christian influence perceive themselves forming one entity with nature (Dowie 2009, 92). Although the division between Indigenous and Western patterns of thought is here simplified, it is evident that the antagonism between human society and nature grew as urbanisation increased. Progressively people separated themselves from both the places and concepts they regard as nature (see Latour 1999, Merchant 1980; Adorno and Horkheimer 1947).

1 “Along the river, over the hills, in the ground, in the sky, spring work is going on with joyful enthusiasm, new life, new beauty, unfolding, unrolling in glorious exuberant extravagance, - new birds in their nest new winged creatures in the air, and new leaves, new flowers, spreading, shining, rejoicing everywhere.” (p. 42) 15

American historian William Cronon addressed the illusory worship of wilderness in the introduction to the book Uncommon Ground (1996), path breaking in environmental history as it looked not just at the history of formation of conservation but also the philosophy and ideas that shaped it. In this text, Cronon acknowledges the importance of the wilderness among his contemporar- ies, which for many Americans represents the last remaining place free from the rampage of civilisation, a refuge where one can turn to escape from urban-industrial modernity, place to recover if we are to save the planet (1996: 69). Indeed, wilderness constitutes a sanctuary for many Americans living in urban areas who perceive the world through binary patterns in which the wild and the civilised stand apart. Cronon (1996) criticises this view of Nature that he deems illusory, qualifying the dream of a pristine landscape as a fantasy of people who never had to work the land to survive. Wilderness represents a dualistic vision in which humans are apart from nature instead of being part of nature. Thus the very presence of humans in nature represents its fall. However, the more we learn about wilderness, the more we realise that it is not what it seems. Natural landscapes as we see them today are the products of human societies at very particular moments in human history (see Costanza et al. 2007; Balée 2006). There is no such a thing as a pristine sanctuary where the last remnant of nature survives away from civilisation. Throughout this thesis, I will discuss the threats to indigenous human rights this very dichotomy provoked. The dichotomy between man and nature does not solely threaten indigenous peoples’ dignity but also the value of humanity as a whole. Indeed, Cronon highlights that when we exclude ourselves from the definition of Nature and construct a divide between the wild and the civilised, between the natural and the man-made, between Nature and us, the logical continuation of this thought is to offer a ‘collective suicide’ as a solution to the current ecological crisis, a solution sometimes has been advanced by radical deep-ecologists. Cronon criticises “Earth First!” founder Dave Foreman, who stated that the preservation of wildness is much more important than issues affecting only humans, Cronon writes that although one may be attracted to such a vision, it involves problematic consequences. In effect, this vision tends to minimise problems of environmental justice. Following this line does lead to a very fractious world (Cronon 1996: 84). In addition, Cronon astutely argues that creating wild sanctuaries for Nature to thrive without the infectious presence of humans would lead to other ethical problems, since some areas would be overprotected while others would be over-exploited, implementing a hierarchy in global biodiversity. This would equal to assigning values on species, deeming which ones deserve to be protected and which ones do not on the basis of little knowledge in terms of biodiversity and cultural use. The colonial era saw the sprout of the wilderness worship. Indeed, colonisers conceived the lands discovered as pristine, still in the state where the Creator had made them. The core belief was that the American continent was a vast virgin territory prior to the arrival of the white man; this belief survived up until the late 20th century, and only recently started to get debunked. In his book 1491, journalist Charles C. Mann reviewed the fascinating research of confronting scholars who challenged conventional notions of what the American continent was before Columbus. Indeed, although the myth that Christopher Columbus set foot on a pristine land in 1492 was taught to American students up until the 1970s (Mann 2002: 41), research demonstrating the contrary abounds.2

2 Mann discusses New England’s colonisation and relates de Champlain’s failure to establish a French base in Cape Cod (south Massachusetts) in 1605 because of its high Native population. Likewise, Sir Ferdinando Gorges, British proprietary founder of Maine who promoted the colonisation of New England, had to abandon the project of establishing an English colony in southern Maine confronted by numerous well-armed local Indians. Mann reminds the huge impact of imported diseases such as smallpox, typhus, diphtheria and measles which made colonisation possible, citing the controverted research of anthropologist Henry Dobyns, famous for challenging historical demographic assumptions with the publication in 1966 of “Estimating Aboriginal 16

Two scholars of Amazonian historical ecology, Clark Erickson, archaeologist, and William Balée, anthropology professor at Tulane University, advanced material to argue that this picture of pristine landscapes were indigenous communities are thought to have had no or little impact on the environment is wrong. These researchers stated that Native American tribes were present much longer than what was previously advanced and in much greater numbers (Mann 2002: 41). In The culture of Amazonian forests (1989), William Balée estimates that at least eleven per cent of terra firme forest in Brazilian Amazon is of human origin. Balée has shown through archaeology and paleo-ecology that Amazonian Indians were resource managers and that palm forests, Brazil nut forests, bamboo forests, liana forests and low caatinga forests are possibly of anthropogenic origin. Similarly, Heckenberger and peers (Heckenberger et al. 2003, 2007) through archaeology and paleoecology studies, assert that indigenous peoples in the Upper Xingu region of Brazil, a region that is presently regarded as pristine, have significantly altered the landscape through complex settlement patterns and large scale transformations of landscapes (Heckenberger et al. 2003: 1710). Indigenous communities were not simply occupying the environment but actively modifying it. The fifteenth century forest that Europeans discovered was thus marked by “pronounced human- induced alteration” (idem.). Much research has shown that Native Americans survived through cleverly exploiting their environment and that they reshaped entire landscapes to suit their purposes using mainly fire as a tool. An increasing number of researchers has also come to believe that the Amazonian forest is a cultural artefact and not the embodiment of a pristine nature. Harvard ecologist David R. Foster (2000) also contributed to debunking the idea of a pristine nature, asserting that the most important aspect of historical ecology today is to recognise the role of people in landscape formation. Foster who had been studying New England forests since the early 1990s demystified the wilderness dream declaring that people are a part of natural ecosystems and that anthropogenic activities have contributed to enhancing biodiversity. The research of Foster and colleagues (based on the combination of paleoecology, ecology, archaeology) led Foster to stress that there is no such a thing as unchanging primeval or natural conditions and accordingly there are no established baseline conditions (Foster 2000). Foster could also establish that through agricultural activities and animal grazing, colonisers in New England, actually enhanced biodiversity that declined, after the cessation of those activities. Foster stresses the importance of understanding the contributions of humans in the creation of some of our most cherished landscapes, Brazilian Amazon, to many National Parks and Wilderness Areas, to apparent natural and old-growth forests, that depend to varying degrees on human management to uphold their structure and composition. Foster states that much to the consternation of many Americans placing high value on wilderness, recognition that familiar and valued landscapes may have strong cultural roots reveals the embarrassing truth that certain ecosystems actually require continuous human activity for their survival (Foster 2000: 7). Thus, wilderness may actually be a product of human inventiveness. From Foster’s research, one can conclude that original landscapes are pure illusion and that sometimes anthropogenic activities can increase biodiversity rather than destroying it. Like Cronon, Foster reminds his readers that the dichotomy between humans and nature is illusory. Mark Dowie (2009) underlines the dangerous dualism between nature and humans discussed by Cronon throughout contemporary radical conservationists’ discourse3. Among famous radical conservationists, the tropical ecologist John Terborgh stated in his book Requiem for Nature (1999) that nature should be pre-

American Population: An Appraisal of Techniques with a New Hemispheric Estimates” (Current Anthropology). Dobyns esti- mated that before Columbus, there were between nine to twelve million people living north of the Rio Grande, thus postulating that in 1491, more people lived in the Americas than in Europe. In “Their Number Became Thinned” (1983), Dobyns revised that number upward to eighteen million people. The debate of population figures prior to colonisation remains thorny because of its importance in Native Americans’ rights to hold territories. Dobyns was the first social scientist to publish such revolutionary numbers. 3 in “Conservation refugees: the hundred-year conflict between global conservation and Native peoples” 2009 17 served for its intrinsic and aesthetic values. Terborgh position is that the primordial nourishment of our psyches provided by a contact to nature is irreplaceable and that all the money in the world could not bring back spectacular landscapes if they cease to exist (quoted in Dowie 2009: 86). However, as shown above, much of what we deem to be wilderness necessitates human activity in order to survive and thrive. If there is no such a thing as an original landscape, what does conservation mean? How are we to conserve New England’s landscape when it is characterised by ongoing change? In the 19th century industrialisation and urbanisation context, nature was perceived like Terborgh described, a way to heal degeneration. The museum held an educational task for an incoherent urban public (Haraway 1989: 29). Wonders (1993: 170) also discusses the didactic purpose of the museum and mentions that at the American Museum of Natural History there was a strong belief that habitat dioramas should preserve for posterity a view of the initial wilderness. Wonders refers to Henry F. Osborn, president of the AMNH between 1908 and 1933, who firmly believed that the habitat diorama would increase the museum’s role in public education by communicating to urban people a respect for the truth and beauty of nature, in line with this vision he declared that: “the new definition of the purpose of a museum is to bring a vision of the world to those who otherwise can never see it” (Wonders 1993: 170). From the illusory worship of a pristine nature, I argue that two myths were born: indigenous peoples were either perceived as a threat to Nature or as ecological noble savages forming one with Nature, who had had no impact whatsoever on their natural environment. This assumption made by some conservationists conceals a form of racism belittling indigenous peoples to be on par with fauna and flora as opposed to ‘real’ civilisation, as will be discussed later on. The dichotomy between people and nature, inherent in Western thinking led to a profound gap between those who dubbed themselves civilised and those who were perceived as wild. The civilised ones were seen as distinct from nature while the uncivilised were seen as a part of nature; in the best case a tourist attraction, in the worst case a problem to be removed. From the myth of pristine wilderness can also be traced ambivalent feelings towards indigenous peoples as I will proceed to argue here; either assimilated as ‘savages’ and part of nature, or attributed as threatened and as ecological angels. I will now discuss the dichotomy between wild and civilised men.

2. The civilised vs the wild The dichotomy between mankind and nature fed another dichotomy, the one between the and the civilised. This dichotomy has justified racism towards indigenous peoples. Since colonisation started, Indigenous peoples have been conceived as biologically inferior to white people, and science have been used to justify an ethnical hierarchy. The conception of indigenous peoples as animals appears to fit into an old-school racism based on biological racism that was in the late 19th and early 20th century an accepted scientific discipline together with social Darwinism. Indigenous peoples were exhibited as specimens and studied for supposedly scientific purposes. According to New-Zealander Indigenous studies scholar Evan Poata Smith, the idea of race was based on the assumptions that human beings can be classified according to their physical features into discrete biological categories known as ‘races’. Poata-Smith pertinently underlines how recent the race idea is in the history of human thought. Etymologically speaking, the word ‘race’ only entered Western languages in the Middle-Ages, when it could be used to refer to lineage or the continuity of generations in families. With colonisation, in the late 17th century, the word ‘race’ took on a meaning different from the original ‘clan’ (Poata-Smith 2015). 18

Embodied by Herbert Spencer or Sir Francis Galton, the alienation of the lands and resources of indigenous peoples was justified by social Darwinism; as it demonstrated the superiority of the colonisers on the colonised. In the Australian case, environmental historians Libby Robin and Tom Griffiths in Ecology and Empire (1998) asserted that colonisers viewed the native inhabitants as a primitive species for Australia was seen as a museum (Griffiths 1998: 3). Australia was thus perceived as a land in which everything was primitive, including its inhabitants. The dichotomy between civilised British settlers and the ʻwildʼ indigenous population directly caused the display of severe racism towards Indigenous Australians. Indeed, the British carried with them a dichotomy between ‘civilised’ and ‘savages’. The word ‘savage’ came from the Latin salvaticus, meaning ‘wood’, that is, being wild and untamed, and opposite to the Latin civicus, meaning ‘citizen’ and pertaining to city; that is, cultured and ordered (Broome 2010: 19). The civilised identity was precisely built in contrast to the wild as Broome reminds us: those that defined themselves as civilised needed an ʻOtherʼ, an opposite, and thereby the idea of the ‘wild’, the ‘the savage’ was imposed on indigenous peoples as part of the colonial expansion (p. 20). Indigenous peoples’ existence quenched Europeans’ desire to build their identity in opposition to another’s. Broome reminds us how racism towards Africans was built on myths and dichotomies, between the black representing ‘dirty’ and ‘evil’ while the ‘white’ embodied ‘clean’ and ‘pure’. As mentioned previously, racism was a way to rationalise slavery and mistreatment of people who were considered less than human; The savage was wild, violent, treacherous and animalistic and therefore needed to be civilised (Broome 2010: 20). The myth of a pristine nature is obviously correlated to the dichotomy between wild and civilised that is poignantly displayed in museum exhibitions until this day. Indeed, the 19th century was an important era for museums and exhibitions4, during which natural history museums contributed to the emergence of the sportsman figure in opposition to indigenous men viewed as savages. Indigenous peoples hunted by necessity, while civilised sportsmen hunted in the name of science. In her book Primate Visions, Gender, Race and Nature in the World of Modern Science (1989), Donna Haraway, a feminist philosopher at the University of California in Santa Cruz, deconstructs the Akeley African Hall at the American Museum of Natural History (AMNH) in New York and discusses the growth of the conservation movement in linkage with habitat dioramas. She will be followed by art historian Karen Wonders (1993), in her deconstructionist analysis. The Akeley gallery displays taxidermist and naturalist Carl Akeley’s African trophies. However, Haraway asserts that the Akeley gallery teaches us more about America than about Africa (Har- away 1989: 27) for it reveals the binary thinking of early conservationists. Indeed, the AMNH is symptomatic of the dichotomy between nature and culture, this monumental institution embodies the ‘other’ of the Metropolitan museum because it is devoted to nature and not to culture (Bal 1996: 15-16). Parts of the AMNH are devoted to non-European peoples but their artefacts are represented in the ʻdark cornersʼ of the Met; indigenous work is only reluctantly classified as art and juxtaposed to animals which poses an intellectual conflict. The AMNH thus divides the world population in two parts, the civilised societies which evolve and produce art, and the indigenous tribes doomed to fixation and immobility (idem.). Today, it is an egregious problem that Native Americans are still represented as figures of the wild in Euro-American museums (see Dorst in Krech III 2007). As Wonders emphasises, the wilderness was seen as a sportsman’s Eden whose leading figure was President Theodore Roosevelt. The sportsman hunting activities were perceived as noble since the killing of animals was done only for a scientific purpose. The taxidermist activities –

4 According to Uppsala sociologist Anna Samuelsson 19 one of the primordial components of natural history museums – derived from the taxonomy enterprise which started during the Enlightenment as Carl Linnaeus’ research and his Systema natura published in 1735 demonstrate. Late 19th century museum collectors can be compared to the 18th century European explorers and naturalists, for instance the travelling Linnaean disciples who brought back exotic species to Europe. This fascination for exoticism is a recurring feature of modern western societies, that has often has led to essentialising the other. But the judgment of other people as inferior, barbaric and even non-human is actually a very common human feature. As Charles Mann remarked in the book 1491, Native Americans viewed Europeans with disdain. The Hurons (part of the Iroquoian people living along the St Lawrence River), he says, thought the French had little intelligence in comparison to themselves. This is a common human feature underlined by Lévi-Strauss in 1952 in his book “Race et histoire”, it is common among human societies to perceive the Other as outside of the human race. For instance, the Huaorani refer to outside groups as cowode (non- human).

3. The ambivalence towards wild peoples: conservation racism The dichotomies previously discussed led to ambivalent feelings towards indigenous peoples in colonial times. The implementation of the first national parks in America is symptomatic of this ambivalence towards indigenous peoples. In the same vein as Cronon, historian Mark Spence (1996) addressed the American ambivalence towards Native Americans. Spence discusses several problematic beliefs, namely that indigenous peoples are either considered as being part of the local fauna and flora, or as a threat to be removed. Mark Spence relates that early tourists in Yosemite National Park were delighted to find Native inhabitants because they contributed to the feeling of authenticity, as Native Americans were still conceived as being part of the wilderness in the late 19th century. In the 1850s, one visitor (Pine 1871: 417 quoted in Spence 1996: 35) suggested that Yosemite be left entirely to its Native inhabitants, stating that he hoped that “the time will never come when Art is sent here to improve Nature” as he was moved by their connection to the place; excited the visitor used phrases as “simple children” describing the Yosemite residents and stated that “their enjoyments nothing above those of the animal.” (in Spence 1996). Drawing on art historian K.N. Ogden’s research, Spence also highlights that Native Americans were incorporated within landscape paintings in the late 19th century in order to strengthen the wild character of the scene. Besides, as photography’s became available to the broader public, taking pictures of Native Americans, who stood as an attraction in Yosemite for their traditional skills and picturesque physique, became an important feature of the Yosemite tourist experience in the late 1880s (Spence 1996: 37). Spence mentions that Indians took advantage of their “exotic naturalness” (idem.) in order to make a living and find their place in the park. The idea that indigenous peoples constitute an integral part of the wilderness experience also emerges from John Muir’s diary introduced above. Though Muir does express in places admiration for Native Americans its5, this admiration is nonetheless counterbalanced with a certain despise from Muir: “(August 21) (…) most Indians I have seen are not a whit more natural in their lives than we civilized whites. Perhaps if I knew them better I should like them better. The worst thing about them

5 Muir and his companions face some difficulties regarding their food (1911, 98-99) and Muir stated in connection with this account that: “We have been out of bread a few days, and begin to miss it more than seems reasonable, for we have plenty of meat and sugar and tea. Strange we should feel food-poor in so rich a wilderness. The Indians put us to shame, so do the squir- rels, - starchy roots and seeds and bark in abundance, yet the failure of the meal sack disturbs our bodily balance, and threatens our best enjoyments.” 20

is their uncleanliness. Nothing truly wild is unclean.” (Muir 1911: 304) Here, Muir is evidently judging Native Americans on the basis of being part of nature, for failing to be ecological noble savages. Muir’s dubious views on Native Americans have been the subject of scholarly work. In a 1978 paper, American literature professor Richard Fleck provided a compelling review of John Muir’s ambivalent feelings towards Native Americans. Fleck relates Muir’s 1880 and 1881 trips to Alaska during which he got to know and befriend Native Ameri- cans. Interestingly, Muir travelled with a Christian missionary (Samuel H. Young) and the two men were deep admirers of Thoreau and Emerson and shared their romantic conception of nature (Fleck 1978: 21). I suggest that the fact that Muir was travelling with a missionary underscores the neo-colonialism latent in Muir’s opinion of Native Americans. Besides, neo-colonialism is prominent throughout Muir’s depiction of Alaskan Natives, as I will now discuss. Fleck underscores the similarity between Muir’s “Travels in Alaska” (1915) and Thoreau’s “Maine Woods” (1864) both characterised by their ambivalence towards indigenous peoples (idem.). The two environmentalists’ criticism was melted with a paternalistic concern for the ecologically-friendly aspects of indigenous cultures. In the tradition of Thoreau, Muir expressed his concern for Natives in Alaska introduced to alcohol and Western technology – something he strongly disapproved. Fleck relates that Muir grew fond of Native Americans for their skills in woodcraft and wilderness survival (the latter which is also shown in footnote 1). Muir’s and Thoreau’s growing fascination for Native American cultures due to what they deemed a ‘conservationist lifestyle’ remained extremely fragile. In effect, the approval granted to them relied solely upon the interpretation of indigenous cosmologies as fostering conservation practices. In his narrative, Muir seems to establish a dichotomy between primitive and civilized. He remains distant and evaluates the people and the behaviours he witnesses. Symptomatic of the power relationships characteristic of neo-colonialism, Muir takes pride in his seeming power over the local peoples and thinks himself superior to them (Fleck 1978: 22). Muir’s book The Cruise of the Corwin (published posthumously in 1918) also testifies of Muir’s prejudices, depicting an 1881 trip to the Arctic as part of the Corwin crew and his exploration on the picturesque Wrangell Island6. The book was analysed in 1994, by Ross Wakefield (1994), a student at the University of the Pacific and member of the Mescalero Apache tribe, in a very pertinent paper about Muir’s racist attitude towards Native Americans. Wakefield describes Muir’s ambivalence towards the residents; a mix of fascination for their lifestyle coupled to a deep despise of “Indians” when they fail to live up to Muir’s ecological nobility concept7 as is also shown in the quote from Muir on p. 23. His judgment of Native Americans as unclean reveals his ethnocentrism (see discussion in Wakefield 1994). Muir’s criticism of indigenous peoples as unclean is also commented on in Mark Spence’s writings who relates Muir’s despise (Spence 1996: 42). His scorn of Native Americans because they did not comply to his cultural standards echoes what French anthropologist Claude Lévi-

6 located west of Alaska, it should not be confused with Wrangel Island, a Russian natural reserve since 1976 7 “Up to this point we have witnessed a certain admiration of Indians by Muir. While never coming out right and saying it, he nevertheless seemed to believe that Indians were indeed living in harmony with Nature. (…). But his views turned abruptly in later chapters of My First Summer. Despite his previous favorable observations, he ultimately argued that Indians were not part of nature: “...most Indians I have known are not a whit more natural in their lives than we civilized whites”. The basis for this apparent contradiction in Muir’s thinking appears to rest on a western bias against Indian forms of personal hygiene. “The worst thing about them is their uncleanliness”, he wrote. “Nothing wild is unclean” Here Muir utterly ignores all objective evidence. His Nature was a clean place, and natives should also be clean to be part of the natural world. Perhaps Muir himself had never seen a dirty animal, or simply couldn’t see the dirt through romantic eyes. Yet most people who have spent time in deserts or forests are familiar with dirt in various forms: infected wounds on animals, mud encrusted forepaws, leaf-strewn fur, etc. Moreo- ver, Muir ignored things that might explain dirt on natives. Many coated their faces to protect from the wind, as was likely the case of the women whose face had enough dirt to be of “geological significance”. Muir also didn’t seem to recognize the connection between the failure of even the dogs to notice the approach of Indians and their “dirty skins”. As scent camouflage, dirt was not washed off. It helped to hide the human scent. (Wakefield 1994) 21

Strauss called cultural relativism. Lévi-Strauss states that it is impossible to judge a culture different from one’s own.8 Lévi-Strauss also brilliantly pointed out that for many human societies, humanity ends at the frontier of the tribe, of the linguistic group, of the village. Many societies call themselves humans while placing the others outside of humanity. But, says Lévi- Strauss, the barbarian is the man who believes in barbarism9. Further, in Race et Histoire (1952), Claude Lévi-Strauss defined “ethnocentrism” as the judgment of another culture according to one’s own criteria and references. Although men have perceived cultural diversity as a monstrosity, Lévi-Strauss asserts it merely constitutes a natural phenomenon (Lévi-Strauss 1952: 19). According to the French anthropologist definition, Muir’s judgment of Native Americans seems to conceal ethnocentrism. The main problem is that although indigenous peoples were at times conceived as a tourist attraction because they symbolized the wild, not all White Americans shared this view as some were convinced of the harmfulness of indigenous presence. Spence relates that early visitors complained about the presence of ‘Indians’ in Yosemite because they did not match their ideal of handsome and noble warriors. For instance, American Unitarian minister Thomas Starr King (1824-1864), found what he called the “Digger Indians” lazy and as responsible for degrading the wilderness stating that he would rather choose ʻthe woodpeckers over the Diggersʼ (in Spence 1996: 41). The perception of Native Americans as a threat to nature indeed led to the implementation of exclusion policies within the United States’ first national parks and this also went hand in hand with the separation of nature and culture as discussed in section A1. When considering that humans as entirely distinct from the natural, biocentrist practices are legitimised (cf Cronon 1996, 80-81, see section A1). Although today the goal for current environmental scholars is to try to discover an ethical place of human in nature (Cronon 1996, 81), this was not the case at the time of national parks’ implementation. Indeed, park officials started implementing policies of gradual removal in the 1930s. Soon enough, conservationists’ interests clashed with Native American lifestyle. In 1897, considering that Natives had killed too many deer the preceding fall, Superintendent A. Rodgers invited the park officials to take dispositions against Native Americans (Spence 1996: 44). This kind of regulations underscores that in the late 19th century, it was conceived that wilderness should be free of men and that Native American culture was doomed to extinction (idem.). In 1930, Superintendent Charles Thomson wrote a “Special report on the Indian situation” to the new director of the National Park Service, Horace M. Albright, advising a process of exclusion so gradual that it would not draw any attention from the public (Spence 1996: 53).

Spence (1996) discusses the contrast between Yosemite and Yellowstone’s exclusion policies10. Indeed, in Yellowstone National Park, established in 1872, eight years after Abraham Lincoln signed the Yosemite Park Act, Native Americans were forced to leave already in the 1880s. In Yellowstone, because indigenous communities were seen as potential threats to the wilderness preservation, Superintendent Norris managed to obtain a treaty from Washington to exclude all Native Americans from the park (Spence 1996: 38). Captain Moses Harris, the Yellowstone superintendent, expressed that the presence of Indians in Yellowstone jeopardized the park’s flora and fauna, but also reflecting the colonising mind set in stating that if indigenous

8 “It is possible (…) that each culture be unable to assign a real judgment on another since one culture cannot escape from itself and that its judgment thus remains the prisoner of an unchangeable relativism.” (Lévi-Strauss 1952: 51, my translation). 9 “By denying humanity to those of its representatives appearing as the most ‘savage’ or ‘barbarian’, one only borrows from them one of their typical attitudes. The barbarian is first and foremost the man who believes in barbarism.” (Lévi-Strauss 1952: 22, my translation). 10 Yosemite stands in contrast with other national parks like Yellowstone and Glacier National park in which indigenous removal occurred earlier and more systematically. Since Yosemite is confined to the state of California, Native exclusion policy was a state issue while in Yellowstone – spread through Wyoming, Idaho and Montana – it was a federal issue (1996). 22 communities stayed in the wilderness, they would never evolve (in Spence 1996). Those ambiguous thoughts about Indigenous peoples and Nature conservation embody many prejudices that were common at the end of the 19th century in the Western world; not just: the dualism between nature and culture, and between civilised and wilderness but also the idea that progress and evolution must necessary follow the European thread. Comparing contemporary Indigenous cultures to archaic civilizations that preceded Western civilization is what Lévi-Strauss called fake evolutionism (1952: 28). However, there is no legitimate reason to believe that Indigenous peoples shall follow the lead of Westerners, for each and every human society differs in its evolution. As for Glacier National Park in the state of Montana, when the United States purchased a portion of land from the Blackfeet reserve in order to conduct mineral explorations in 1895 indigenous peoples retained their rights on animals and plants, and also to sacred places that had long been a part of their lifestyle. But in the Glacier Park Act of 1910, park officials negotiated with the Bureau of Indian Affairs in order to deprive indigenous peoples from their rights in Glacier country and to eventually exclude them (Spence 1996: 45). In 1964, when the national Wilderness Act was launched in USA and it was the direct inheritor of the dichotomy between men and nature and exclusion of resident indigenous communities. It aimed at securing for the present and future generations of American people the benefits of an enduring resource of wilderness (section 2a) and defined wilderness as an “area where the earth and its community of life are untrammelled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain” (section 2c). Thus, the wilderness act stemmed from the policies of removal and forced abandonment that occurred in the late 19th century. As outlined here, policies of exclusion have coexisted with the belief that Indigenous peoples live in harmony with the land. As the same time, the perception of Indigenous peoples as a threat to conservation shown in the late 19th century and early 20th century continue to pervade some conservationists’ discourse as well as major NGOs’ agendas as I will discuss later. The review of emergence of nature conservation presented here shows that conservation has a strong legacy of dichotomous separation, Eurocentric prejudice and racism. The early nature conservation advocates such as Muir also has some resemblances with radical conservationists today. Radical conservationists, such as Terborgh, quoted in chapter 1 who stresses natures intrinsic and aesthetic values, (see Kramer et al. 1997; Brandon et al 1998; Terborgh 1999; Oates 1999) are opposed to the idea of sustainable development that they deem corrupted and materialistic. Katrina Brandon joins Kent Redford and Steven Sanderson in the book Park in Peril to defend national parks, arguing that although the idea of sustainable development is appealing, conservation does not fare well with it. Colorado State University philosophy professor Holmes Rolston III commented the debate over human versus animal rights in relation to the Royal Chitwan National Park in Nepal which saw its surrounding human population drastically grow after DDT introduction in 1950, and where pressure on resources threatened the endangered Bengal tiger. Rolston declared: “I put the tigers first and morally approve the present policies, on grounds that tigers as a species ought not be sacrificed on the altar of human mistakes” (1998, quoted in Dowie 2009). Thus in some circles, it appears that the old ghosts of nature conservation is as alive today as it was in the early 20th century. The racist perception of indigenous peoples is correlated to another aspect. From the dichotomy between ‘civilisation’ and ‘wildness’, also stems the essentialist conception of indigenous peoples as innocent barbarians, “ecological noble savages” as anthropologist Kent Redford dubs it (1990).

B. The ecological noble savage: a variant of essentialism As shown above through colonisation, indigenous peoples have been conceived as biologically inferior to White people, in an ethnical hierarchy and justified by so-called science. In the late 20th century, as scientific racism was discredited, another cultural stereotype started to emerge; the idea that culturally, Indigenous peoples are closer to Nature. But this idea might only be another display of essentialism.

1. Indigenous peoples and their environment: intentional or epiphenomenal conservation? The idea that indigenous peoples respect their environment probably stem from the fact that most environmental degradation was caused by state societies whereas hunter-gatherer tribes certainly had less impact (see Borgerhoff Mulder and Coppolillo 2005). Besides, comparative studies have shown a correlation between the presence of indigenous peoples and high biodiversity whereas the presence of non-indigenous is correlated to low biodiversity (Redford and Robinson 1987). However, it is unavoidable to ask whether this is intentional or simply a consequence of a certain lifestyle correlated to a low population density and a low access to technology. Indeed, anthropologist Eugene S. Hunn was the first scholar to emphasise the intentionality factor in conservation; in a 1982 article he distinguished epiphenomenal (or side-effect) conservation from intentional conservation. In 2000, anthropologist Eric Alden Smith and forester Mark Wishnie followed Hunn’s lead and defined the term ‘conservation’ as actions preventing or mitigating biodiversity loss and designed to do so. Smith and Wishnie (2000: 493) in a review of existing research concluded that intentional conservation amongst indigenous peoples or what they called ‘voluntary conservation’ is rare. Below, I will review the debate around epiphenomenal conservation according to Hunn’s definition. In 1987, Redford and Robinson, compared hunting yields of sixteen native groups in the Ama- zon to six Peruvian and Brazilian backwoodsmen. Their study demonstrated that colonists had hunted a more limited number of species and had a more negative impact on the game populations because of factors such as a greater population density, catering to extra local demand, and a more efficient technology. On the other hand, because Native Amazonians took a wider variety of game, they had a less significant impact on game populations than colonists. It is very hard to assess whether this case is one of intentional or epiphenomenal conservation. In effect, it is ethically problematic to decide for other peoples if their practices constitute conscious choices or are simply necessary. I wish to advocate to keep in mind when reading such data that Indigenous communities are constituted of many individuals who each have different preferences and understandings of the world; and not to deny individuality to those who belong to Indigenous tribes. The debate on epiphenomenal vs intentional conservation intensified among the scholarly community when American anthropologist Shepard Krech III published a book aiming at debunking the idea of ecological-friendliness among Indigenous peoples. He postulated that Native Ameri- cans did not follow conservation practices before contact with Whites and overused resources during the contact period. Krech concluded that although Native Americans understood complex environmental interactions, they made no systematic efforts to conserve game species. Research- ers in anthropology, biology and archaeology have since been debating about indigenous peoples and conservationist practices. In 1994, Allyn MacLean Stearman declared that the idea of ecological nobility was due to a few ethnographic cases that had been indiscriminately generalized to all indigenous peoples (Stear- man 1994: 2). I agree with Stearman that generalisations do not form the basis of sound conclusions. Indeed, anthropologist Michael S. Alvard researching the evolution of human behaviour demonstrated that conservation most likely occurs under restricted circumstances. Using foraging theory in order to determine the hunting preferences of the Piro hunters in the Amazonian Peru, Alvard stated that Piro hunters make decisions consistent with foraging theory predictions

24 and do not hesitate to kill game identified as vulnerable to over-hunting (1993). Alvard (idem.) stresses that although indigenous peoples have an intimate knowledge of their environment, there is not enough empirical evidence to state that they use this knowledge in order to maintain equi- librium within the ecosystems surrounding them or to sustain their resources. In 2002, the University of Wyoming hosted a conference entitled Re-figuring the ecological In- dian which led to the publication of a volume edited by Harkin and Lewis (2007). Many supported Krech’s claim that Native American practices were not aimed at conservation of resources. American social anthropologist Ernest S. Burch who had been doing research on the historic social organization of the Eskimo peoples in the Artic, notably demonstrated that Native Alaskan hunters drove a number of species to local extinction (Burch 2007). Burch concluded that nearly all groups harvested sustainably until the arrival of Europeans, but sustainability was un-intended. The introduction of breech loading rifles and the high trade value placed on local hides and furs led to cases of over-harvesting. Hence, Burch (idem.) supports the hypothesis of epiphenomenal conservation. But is indigenous technological efficiency really limited? If epiphenomenal conservation is a consequence of limited technology, it is essential to assess the efficiency of indigenous weapons. In 1978, anthropological Eric Ross fostered a controversy when he advanced that traditional indigenous hunting technology can be more efficient than modern western technology and that shotguns have reduced the efficiency with which certain important animals can be killed (quoted in Yost and Kelley 1983). If Ross’s statement is correct it supports the view that Indigenous peoples are intentional conservationists because they do possess the technology to overkill. Many anthropologists have since published data to counteract Ross and assert that indigenous technology is less efficient and does not allow hunters to kill the same species of animals that a shotgun would11. For instance, Hames responded with extensive data indicating again that the shotgun is a far more efficient weapon than the bow (quoted in Yost and Kelley 1983). However, despite the controversy it can be established that the efficiency of indigenous weapons’ efficiency is undoubtable. In 1979, Chagnon and Hames demonstrated that the bow and arrow are quite ade- quate to provide population with sufficient levels of protein (idem.). In the same vein, Yost and Kelley (1983) were the first anthropologists to advance data supporting the efficiency of the blowgun and spear as I will develop in the next part. The fact that many indigenous societies rely on common-property regimes could also strengthen the hypothesis of epiphenomenal conservation is also strengthened. Indeed, common-property regimes might encourage a wise utilisation of resources. For instance, anthropologist Flora Lu conducted fieldwork among the Huaorani of Ecuador who function on a common property regime in which people are free to choose any available location to clear a plot of land for a garden (Lu 2001: 433), and concluded that when people live in small sub-populations of closely related kin, they are much more accountable to each other (Lu Holt 2001: 439) – a situation which probably encourages the preservation of resources and thus indirectly fosters conservationist practices. Common-property regimes could thus result in epiphenomenal conservation; although in 1968, American economist Garrett Hardin asserted that in a situation of open-access resources, depletion would soon occur (Olstrom 1990, 2005; Berkes et al. 2000; Berkes 2004; Olsson et al 2004; Barthell et al 2013b; Ruiz-Mallén and Corbera 2013). Although indigenous conservationist practices may seem to be cases of epiphenomenal conservation, a few famous case-studies of indigenous resource management attest that indigenous communities can be deliberate conservationists. One of them was published by American anthropologist and ethnobiologist Eugene Hunn and colleagues (Hunn et al. 2007) and relates the traditional gull-eggs harvests in Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve in Alaska, indicating that the

11 Beckermann, Good, Nietschmann and Vickers all reacted promptly in Current Anthropology (Volume 19, 1978) to contradict his contention that traditional technology was more effective than the shotgun 25

Huna Tlingit peoples possess an extensive knowledge and understanding of the glaucous-winged gull nesting biology and behaviour. Traditional gull-eggs harvests seem to represent a case of intentional conservation. Another case-study of intentional conservation is Harvey A. Feit’s presentation of conservationist hunting practices of the Waswanipi Cree peoples. An essential component of Waswanipi’s cosmology is the north wind spirit, the chuetenshu, who provides men with enough to eat as long as they respect other species. Here, the link between Waswanipi’s cosmology and the sustainable use of resources is obvious, as Feit emphasises that the hunter must act responsibly towards the game and the north wind spirit (Feit 1973: 76). Waswanipi hunting seems well to be a case of deliberate conservation because hunters possess the skill and technology to kill many animals but it is part of their responsibilities to abstain from killing more than necessary, and not to kill for enjoyment or prestige (idem.). Overall it is important to bear in mind that conservation can only occur when people are aware of resource scarcity, which is far from being the rule. Indeed, anthropologist Natalie Smith conducted interviews among the Machiguenga people in the Peruvian Amazon to understand their management patterns. When asked why the amount of game had decreased around the village, Machiguenga men interviewed replied that animals had been scared or that they were hiding. Many people declared that the amount of animals had remained the same or increased, simply they were further away from the village (Smith 2001: 435). Moreover, although the fallow time had significantly decreased these past decades, when asked about the decreasing yields, informants asserted that poor seeds or spiritual contamination were responsible for poor yields and not soil problems. Smith also interviewed the men hunters to find out if they avoided killing preg- nant and younger animals, but the informants replied they could not make any distinction (idem., p. 446). Smith makes it clear that the Machiguenga are not conservationists; it is no criticism but simply a fact that the Machiguenga lack the social structure and information necessary that would enable them to carry out informed conservation. This is common to many indigenous societies which lack awareness of resource scarcity and thus where conservation cannot exist. In- deed, Lu Holt (2001: 432), in connection to her fieldwork with the Huaorani of Ecuador, wrote that she was repeatedly told by the community that no resources were rare or scarce. On the basis of the review I gave above, I contend that it is impossible to generalise over the question of intentional or epiphenomenal conservation. It seems that each indigenous society constitutes a unique case. Though indigenous communities have institutions in place to manage resources sustainably, it is unclear to what degree this can be called intentional conservation or not; these practices also rely on very distinctive cosmologies and social negotiations. Thus, conservation does bring a foreign concept in indigenous cosmologies, as I will develop further later. But before going into this I want to stress that indigenous peoples are not conservationists but merely humans.

2. Indigenous peoples, merely humans A broad scholarship has demonstrated cases of environmental destruction among indigenous peoples. In 1985, American anthropologist A. Terry Rambo claimed that the Semang, a nonin- dustrial small-scale society of Peninsular Malaysia, affected their environment in some ways as much as or even more than industrial societies. Other scholars have raised case-studies to demonstrate that environmental destruction is a common feature among human societies, whether indigenous or not., world-famous American cultural geographer Jared Diamond presented well-documented examples of environmental indifference or destruction by tribal peoples in his book Collapse (2005). In the contemporary controversy around indigenous peoples and ecological nobility, two sides emerged: some people use data demonstrating that indigenous peoples have wreaked havoc on their environments in order to dispossess them of their rights, whom Diamond qualifies of ‘rac- 26 ists’, while others reject such scholarship because it threatens Indigenous peoples’ status of ecological angels (Diamond 2005: 8-9). Diamond acknowledges that indigenous peoples do not like to be told that their ancestors caused damage to the ecosystems because it seems that this assertion prejudices their rights to land ownership (idem.). However, although it has become politically incorrect to assert that indigenous populations wrecked damage on their environment, this fact simply points out our common humanity. The interest of Diamond’s work lies in its clear emphasis that all human societies share the same human traits, that very different societies located in different times and spaces have had negative impacts on their environments, and oftentimes were powerless over their own impacts. Indige- nous peoples do not fundamentally differ from modern First World peoples; indeed, managing environmental resources has always been a challenge since mankind developed inventiveness and hunting skills around 50 000 years ago and wherever humans settled, large animals which had evolved without fear of the human species underwent destruction (Diamond 2005: 9). It is paramount to understand what being human entails, no matter where one originates from. By emphasising our common humanity, researchers’ work can help tearing apart essentialism. Mega faunal overkills are simply a common feature to human’s colonisation of the world, and have nothing to do with indigenousness. Hence, the evidence advanced by Krech (1999) about the mega faunal overkill and archaeological analysis of the Native American tribe Hohokam, seems irrelevant. Many scholars argue for human responsibility in biodiversity loss (see Stahl 1996, Hayashida 2005, quoted in Hames 2007). In effect, debates regarding human agency in megafauna extinction has been and is still an intensive area of archaeological and paleontological research (see for instance True et al. 2005, Miller et al. 2005, Surovell et al. 2005, Stewart et al. 2004, quoted in Hames 2007). I suggest that the debate of indigenous ecological nobility is irrelevant because ultimately, conservation practices have more to do with lifestyles than origins. Hence, all cases of societies ex- posed by Diamond in his best-seller were sedentary societies which had adopted large-scale food production, demonstrating that farming societies are more likely to cause irreversible damage to their environment than hunter-gatherer ones. This point might support the epiphenomenal conservation hypothesis, which suggests that the question of being indigenous to a place is irrelevant. Diamond advances the idea that most civilisations collapse after reaching peak population number and societal organisation (Diamond 2005: 137) Some characteristic patterns of hunter- gatherer societies such as being actively engaged in warfare and vendetta (e.g. the Huaorani of Ecuador) ensure that the population density remains low. Besides, a nomadic lifestyle does not allow the accumulation of goods. All of these factors are obviously correlated to a low environmental impact which differentiates subsistence societies from farming societies. Choices made by indigenous tribes in contact to western civilisation seem to display that humans tend to make similar choices. Here, I choose to develop the case of the Huaorani of Ecuador who, when introduced to western weapons, usually opted for the most efficient guns for their hunting activities. The Huaorani (literally: people of the forest) are Native Amerindians from the Amazonian region of Ecuador. Their traditional homeland is a vast area encompassing 20 000 square kilometres of forest. Until the mid-20th century, they had had no contact at all with the outside world. James A. Yost, a consultant anthropologist for a missionary organization, worked in Ecuador from 1973 to 1982, wrote with anthropologist Patricia Kelley a brilliant article (1983) which helps us understand the technology choices made by indigenous peoples. The paper relates the efficiency of traditional weapons (see also discussion above) among the Huaorani of Ecuador compared to introduced technology and discusses how Native Amazonians adjusted their hunting practices after this introduction. According to Yost and Kelley’s field studies, Am- azonian hunters adopted the shotgun in order to complement their traditional technology and thus diversify the range of game hunted. In 1974, the community possessed 3 shotguns, in 1983 there were 66 shotguns among 194 men (Yost and Kelley 1983:202), which they obtained by selling

27 their craft in nearby towns. Although Yost and Kelley’s fieldwork clearly shows the significant efficiency of the blowguns and the spears, which in some case are more efficient than the shot- gun12, the shotgun has enabled Huaorani to hunt more animals even the ones previously considered taboo. A few Huaorani men admitted that the tabooed animals were those difficult to kill but were actually consumed by some before the taboo was lifted (p. 205). Besides the shotgun introduction, the use of dogs for hunting enabled Huaorani to hunt more animals: three of the top 11 source of protein (according to weight) are hunted by dogs and were either ignored previously or obtained only rarely (p. 206). Yost and Kelley conclude by denying Ross’s assertion (1978) that the shotgun is a less efficient weapon than the traditional ones. According to their data, the shotgun is 1,22 time more effective than the blowgun and spear. Advocates of the ecologically noble savage myth would argue that in spite of their weapons’ efficiency, Indigenous people consciously choose not to over-exploit resources, whereas opponents to Indigenous peoples’ rights would state that the sole reasons why Indigenous people did not over-exploit their environment was because they lacked the technology to do so, and that if given modern technology they would all over-exploit, causing detrimental consequences to biodiversity. Yost and Kelley’s paper cleverly demonstrates that both the arguments advanced by the defenders of the ecologically noble savage myth and its opponents are based on misleading assumptions. Technological efficiency is not as simple as one might first think, and Huaorani preferences are also ambivalent and vary from one individual to the other. Taboo and spiritual beliefs evolve which is a human thing, given that culture is dynamic (UN 2009: 70). In sum, we can neither praise the Huaorani for being innate conservationists, nor deny them the right to hunt on the pretext that they would then be ignoble and corrupted savages. They are none of those stereotypes. They are complex people, with a more complex technology than one may assume at first sight. Huaorani can preserve biotic resources even when given Western shotguns, even if most taboos have been lifted. The fact that a greater range of animals are available to Huaorani as a protein source can also be seen as a positive environmental side-effect because if they have more animals to hunt from, this will lift the pressure off the populations of animals that used to be most hunted. This argument is advanced by Lu Holt (2005) when she asserts that the introduction of Western technology can have positive side-effects for the conservation of species. To summarise, and this is the point I want to raise here, the real criteria in people’s impact on their environment is not about being indigenous to the place or not, but rather about land and resource use and which kind of technology is used.

3. Eco-noble savage: essentialism and epistemological racism Nowadays, the scientific community acknowledges that the idea of race is not a valid concept. As Poata-Smith highlights, not one characteristic trait or gene distinguishes all the members of one so-called ‘race’ from all the members of another so-called ‘race’ (Poata-Smith 2015). Even- tually, the absurdity of the idea of ‘race’ is revealed in the debate around racial heredity and identity. The quirky case of Professor Rachel Dolezal whose story is related by the British newspaper “The Economist” illustrates the current paradigm shift around the idea of race. Although White, Dolezal claimed herself Black, stating that identity is a subjective, fluid thing and that racial heredity does not constitute identity (The Economist Volume 415:41). As younger Americans in- creasingly speak the language of fluid ethnicities, asserts the Economist, the idea of race indeed no longer makes sense.

12 Indeed, the Huaorani postulated that a family of toucans or band of monkeys can be killed in large numbers with a blowgun before the remaining animals try to flee, but a shotgun will send most animals out of reach because of its noise. Besides, the Huaorani also underlined that shotguns are not always efficient because of misfires due to wet powder or other problems. Still, the men reported their enjoyment at using shotguns for their aesthetic qualities (p. 191). Yost and Kelley astutely point out that the blowgun and spears have different purposes. The blowgun is used for arboreal game whereas the spear is used for terrestrial game. 28

But if biological racism has weakened, cultural racism that stems from ethnocentrism (see Lévi- Strauss 1952) is still very strong. In the case of racism towards indigenous peoples, the cultural stereotype that indigenous peoples are closer to Nature has not faded as I am arguing here. As has been argued here the ecological noble savage myth conceals a form of essentialism. Hence, the myth of ecological nobility carries two ethical and academic issues: first creating and over- simplifying an ʻotherʼ as a subject and defining her/him within a static essence and judging another culture according to one’s values. First of all, to define indigenous peoples as noble savages is undoubtedly essentialist. Essential- ism can be defined as “the practice of regarding something (as a presumed human trait) as having innate existence or universal validity rather than as being a social, ideological, or intellectual construct”13. Essentialism is thus correlated to racism, whether it is negative or positive. In his book The Nature of Prejudice, the American psychologist Gordon Willard Allport defined racism as an antipathy based upon generalisation that can be directed toward a group as a whole, or toward an individual member of that group (Allport 1954: 4). But racism, is not restricted to negative generalisations. It is also expressed in any kind of generalisation towards other ethnic groups. Thus negative racism and positive racism have more in common than could be assumed. Indeed, Broome classifies the noble savage myth as a variant within the narrative of savagery. As previously developed, I patently agree with Broome that noble savagery is solely a variant from the savagery myth. The romantic idea of the noble savage quenched the need of exoticism among intellectual Europeans and also influenced Pacific explorers in search of exoticism (Broome 2010: 19), in sum these explorations were part and parcel of the need to identify oneself in opposition to an ‘other’. In the case of the Australian colonisation, the view of ecological noble savagery coexisted with that of ignobility and wildness. Among the social elite, namely the British admiral and first governor of New South Wales Arthur Phillip and his officers, the idea of noble savagery predominated; but to the vast majority of the settlers, the convicts, Aboriginal people were plain savages. As Broome argues both views were social constructions: The idea of savagery predominated because it suited the context of land-conflict and the idea of nobility soon faded with the reality of contact (Broome 2010: 19). Both views were undoubtedly two sides of the same coin. As Bal (1996: 4-5) emphasises, whether it is a positive or negative form of essentialism, the narratives of the discourse are closely related; both forms of essentialism rely on the same dichotomies, simplifications and categorisations. Neither idea was a sound basis for practical relations with the Eora for, as Broome says, the Eora were neither noble nor savage, but rather human and different (Broome 2010: 19). On this point, I strongly agree with Broome; for the Eora, just like any other Indigenous people, held a unique worldview and it is merely simplistic and ethnocentric to classify them under a savagery label. The Eora were civilised in their own way, as Broome advances, they were guided by their own moral code and their own law. Conversely, the newcomers on the Australian continent among whom many were convicts, could have appeared as savages. The problem is that the myth of the noble savage informs other myths of primitivism. The combination of opposites, the binary thinking between barbarism and civilisation position such myths to be taken as granted as apparent truths (Bal 1996: 4-5). Although essentialism is harmful, stereotypes are very hard to uproot, because they help us making sense of the world. In his book Public Opinion (1922), American journalist Walter Lippmann defined stereotype as a simplification guiding our perception of others and our integration of information (Poata-Smith 2015). Perhaps it is impossible to be free of stereotypes; as Allport (1954) contended. Language itself can never be fully neutral: Stereotypes are embedded in our

13 (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/essentialism). 29 thinking, they foster subtle racism in our thinking because they bolster differences between groups and assume homogeneity in other groups. One major issue is that stereotypes actually tend to mainly be directed to and disadvantage minorities (Devine and Elliot 1995). Simplifica- tions provide general expectations about social groups and simplify the demand of perceiving and evaluating group members as individual (idem.). Following Allport’s lead, Devine and Elliot underline that simplifying groups identities often makes it easier for outsiders to perceive these entities, the same way as it was easier for colonisers to homogenise indigenous or aboriginal groups (Mc Gloin 2015). However, these simplifications do not respect the differences and particular identities of indigenous peoples. To the question “what is Indigeneity today?”, the noble savage stereotype responds by a static immobile definition that denies Indigenous peoples the right to self-determination and the fundamental human right of acknowledging their culture as dynamic and changing. For all those reasons, the concept of ecological nobility when applied to Indigenous peoples is an example of essentialism. As previously stated in the introduction, Australian Indigenous scholar Michael Dodson emphasised the importance of self-definition for Indigenous people worldwide and stated that indigenous peoples should be free to evolve according to each generations’ aspirations and to live outside the cage built by other people’s images and projections (Dodson 1993, 2003: 31). The perception of Indigenous peoples as ecological angels has been denounced as racist in the non-European world as well. From October 14th to 19th 2013, Uppsala University hosted a symposium “Re-Claimings - Empowerings - Inspirings”, to encourage research for and with indigenous peoples, minorities and local communities. Kaori Arai, a PhD student at Rikkyo University in Japan, related the controversy that occurred between researchers and the Ainu people in the post-war context. The Ainu peoples were the indigenous peoples of Hokkaido, slowly subjugated by the Waijin who thought it their duty to civilise them. Robertson (2009) recounts that the scientific study of Ainu people constituted a fierce tragedy for their skulls, as remains were examined by the Waijins in the 1980s without any approval from the families. First seen as barbaric, ugly and inferior, they were then turned into the complete opposite. Philosopher Umehara Takeshi embraced a narrative of harmony with nature when he published with the controverted anthropologist Hanihara Kazuro in 1982 the dubious Are the Ainu the original Japanese?. In 1985, Fujimura Hisakazu praised Ainu oral traditions and their harmony with nature in the book Ainu, the people who live with the Gods. No longer were they seen as ethnically inferior but simply perceived as closer to nature. According to Kaori Arai though, quoting the Japanese historian Takeshi Higashimura, the narrative of harmony with nature may simply be a reappearance of race theory under an ecological disguise. Indeed, essentialism and prejudices do not stop at the door of the academic world. Oversimplifications that cultural stereotypes embody have been and continue to be part of the academic world. James R. Martin from the University of Sydney, discusses how racism infil- trates scholarly discourse analyses and states that racialised relationships between the researcher and the researched should be thoroughly examined (quoted in Poata-Smith 2015). Similarly, Scheurich and Young (1997) stated that epistemological racism occurs when the research epistemologies arise out of the dominant culture and history while excluding other cultures’ epistemologies. Because the ecological noble Indian myth arose out of European social history and culture while excluding Indigenous cultures, it is reasonable to advance that the myth reveals epistemological racism, as has been discussed above several times. Although positive in appearance, the noble savage myth reflects the worst racism, the invisible one, the one we participate in without consciously knowing or intending it (see discussion in Scheurich and Young 1997: 12). The epistemological racism expressed towards indigenous peoples through the stereotypes of the Noble Savage during the colonial era is related to the stereotype of the ecologically Noble Sav- age expressed by environmentalists. Indeed, just as Enlightenment philosophers projected their

30 values on colonised peoples, environmentalists projected their worldviews on the populations they encountered. American anthropologist Paul Nadasdy (2005: 298) argues that the ecological noble savage myth began with the late 19th century conservationists George Bird Grinnell and Gifford Pinchot who were interested in Native American tribes and claimed that Native Ameri- cans were original conservationists. The approval of indigenous peoples, were granted on the condition that they embrace certain lifestyles and practices appealing to white environmentalists. This as Nadasdy (idem.) points out, poses a real threat to human rights recognition and implicitly means that indigenous peoples have value solely if they do certain things and believe in certain concepts. Interpreting another people’s worldview through the lens of one’s own paradigm, as well as praising certain beliefs because they fit within the white man’s belief system seem to be a manifestation of power dynamics at play. This stereotype reflects one way western pracitioners and researchers have been making sense of distant cultures they could relate to only from the outside. Ellingson (2001) argues that Western value system still pervades every assumption we make about distant romanticised characters. Used by environmental NGOs to praise Indigenous supposedly ecological societies, the myth serves as a tool to accuse Western modes of production; capitalism and individualism.

PART II How has land stewardship been used as a political tool? The responsibility put upon indigenous peoples and the issue of self-determination.

A. Intentional hybridity and the myth of the noble savage

1. Worldviews in which conservation is a foreign concept Indigenous cultures entertain a dynamic relationship to the land as the fields of ethno-ecology and traditional ecological knowledge have clearly documented. Leslie Korn (2014), researcher in traditional medicine describes how, indigenous women in rural West Mexico traditionally bury the umbilical cord underneath a tree on their land after giving birth; the connection between people and land passes from one generation to the next and demonstrates the essence of human culture as the word culture etymologically implies. To Korn (idem.) indigenous culture links the land to the health and well-being of the family and that the profound connection between the people and the land are revealed in traditional medicines14. Many anthropologists have suggested that indigenous culture entertains a special relationship to the land. However, as I have discussed in the previous part, the concept of conservation does not exist in indigenous cosmologies. A vast number of indigenous cosmologies by attributing souls to animals and plants, and conse- quently an intrinsic value to all non-human communities of life, appear more prone to respecting and thus conserving biodiversity. For instance, in most Indigenous societies, there exists a no- waste policy: every animal hunted or plant harvested is used in its entirety so that its death would not have occurred in vain (see for instance the documentary by Jens Bjerre (1995) on the Kalaha- ri Kung-San). The conception of the environment as a holistic entity, where everything is alive and every life has its place in the structure and composition of the universe, encourages respect and care for the Earth and for all its inhabitants. It is quite logical that a culture which gives value to non-human life will engender more conservationist friendly practices than a materialistic culture denying value to the lives of animals and plants, utilising them as mere sources of profit, as exemplified with mass slaughtering and the propagation of chemically-based agriculture in the western world for the past decades (see for instance Worthy 2013). Inclusive indigenous worldviews and cosmologies relying on tales and stories about natural phe- nomena, have caught the attention of a few anthropologists who perceived in them a refreshing way of looking at the world. In 1960, American anthropologist A. Irving Hallowell published the book Ojibwa ontology, behavior and worldview which has since become a classic study of animism in Indigenous communities. Like religion historian Mircea Eliade, Hallowell postulates that the sacred concepts of how people understand the cosmos lies at the heart of their culture. According to Hallowell, the Ojibwa do not confer the same definition to the word ‘person’ as in western worldview, since their definition include non-human objects. The Ojibwa grant a significant importance to relationships both between human persons and between human and non- human persons, social relations thus entail much more than relationships between human beings (Hallowell 1960: 167). Responsibility towards non-human persons seems to anticipate the ideas of modern environmentalists such as American conservationist Aldo Leopold who advanced that

14 In Fourth World Journal, Vol. 13, No. 1, Summer 2014: 5 32 man should assume the role of citizen in the community of biota (Leopold 1949: 2). But this conception of the land has ultimately no real connection with indigenous identity for adopting a spirituality which encompasses humans, animals and plants and does not have to be restricted to indigenous worldviews. As Redford put it, the knowledge of one’s environment is simply a consequence of living with the land15. Indeed, a spiritual connection to the land might simply be a correlation to living close to nature and might not be relevant to one’s ethnicity. This is what American historian Lynn White Jr. pointed at when he suggested that the modern world needed its own version of animism in order to achieve a more environmental-friendly lifestyle. In the United States, the 1960s witnessed the birth of rebellious movements questioning western civilization and accusing it of generating global environmental troubles. White Jr (1967), published a well-known essay on The historical roots of our ecologic crisis where he argued that the roots of the environmental crisis lie within western Christianity. White criticised the anthropocentric Christian worldview and suggested a different kind of Christianity inspired by St Francis of Assisi, a 13th century Italy ecclesiastic figure, for whom equality among all creatures should replace the idea of humans’ dominion over nature. According to White, western technology might be the continuation of the agricultural revolution process that began in the 7th century when man’s relation to the soil shifted; because the soil was so unfertile in northern Europe, peasants started to plough the land and developed a violent relationship to the land (White Jr 1967). In rigid contrast, hunter-gatherer societies such as Aboriginal Australians did not adopt a scientific paradigm of domination over nature. Indeed, as Aboriginal Australian scholar Mary Graham (1999) writes in one of the basic axioms of the Aboriginal worldview – “The Land is the Law” – dictates that the land is a sacred entity (Graham 1999). I would like to suggest that although indigenous beliefs foster more environmental-friendly attitudes than western religions do, it is important not to confuse peoples with beliefs. Culture is dynamic and constantly evolving, and beliefs are subject to interpretation. Indeed, Christianity itself – a religion abundantly criticized by environmentalists for its supposed anthropocentrism – can be interpreted differently as is shown by White (1967) in the case of St Francis of Assisi16. When suggesting an alternative Christian worldview through St Francis’ teachings, White notes that many Franciscan ideas were probably inherited from the Cathars who themselves may have obtained them from India. The transmis- sion of beliefs between different peoples throughout times highlights that religions are not static. Indeed, Christian theologian Sallie McFague looked for an ecological message in Jesus’ teachings stating that the Christian values of love and compassion towards the victims can provide an eco-friendly version of Christianity. I believe that her writings outline the many possible ways to rethink religion. Today, many leaders of the supposedly most anthropocentric religions try to find ecologic messages in scriptures, promoting respect towards nature and even vegetarianism – attitudes compatible with the values of compassion, justice, and health so dear to Christianity and Judaism. Following the lead of scholar Jared Diamond who argued that different environments shaped different food production systems (1997), this contrast suggests that environments shape belief systems, as much as belief systems shape environments. Thus the difference in the way humans

15 “To live and die with the land is to know its rules. When there is no hospital at the other end of the telephone and no grocery store at the end of the street, when there is no biweekly pay check nor microwave oven, when there is nothing to fall back on but nature itself, then a society must discover the secrets of the plants and animals. Thus indigenous peoples possess extensive knowledge of the natural world. In every place where humans have existed, people have received this knowledge from their elders and taught it to their children, along with what has been newly acquired” (Redford, Orion Summer 1990, p. 26). 16 White offers an alternative Christian view because “what we do about ecology depends on our ideas of the man-nature relationship” (p. 35). In fact, although for two thousand years Christian missionaries rejected concepts such as sacred groves because assuming spirit in nature was idolatrous, White reminds that there have been exceptions in the history of Christianity. He discusses the case of Saint Francis of Assisi who believed in the virtue of humility and in a “democracy of all God’s creatures” (p. 36). 33 relate to their environments might emerge from different environmental conditions, though not solely for other factors coexist (Diamond 2005: 438). British anthropologist Tim Ingold explored Indigenous relationship to the environment in the book The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling and Skill (2000). In- gold, who has been pursuing research on circumpolar reindeer herding and hunting, compared accounts that western biologists and indigenous hunters give of the behaviour of caribou during episodes of predation. He showed that the scientific authority and the anthropological interpretation selected out nature and culture as separate objects of attention (Ingold 2000: 7). In effect, in their methodologies, western scientists and anthropologists strengthen the dichotomy between nature and culture. Inspired by Gregory Bateson who aimed to debunk the distinction between mind and nature, Ingold suggests an alternative mode of understanding based on the premise of our engagement with the world. Ingold concludes that what the Ojibwa have arrived at is not an alternative science of nature but a poetics of dwelling which should be the ground of all scientific activity. As previously discussed in the introduction, according to him, the word ‘indigenous’ relies on the interpretation of “five key terms: ancestry, generation, substance, memory and land” (Ingold 2000: 10) and Indigeneity is thus grounded in the relationship to the environ- ment17 . But indigenous spirituality does not always lead to conservation practices for some beliefs can also impede knowledge of the consequences of harvests throughout time (Hames 2007, 184)18. Besides, tribal religious values can sometimes be detrimental to environmental protection. Dia- mond (2005) gives the example of Easter Islanders who deforested their island to obtain logs for transport and built the giant stone statues they worshipped (Diamond 2005: 432). American anthropologist Paul Nadasdy drew attention to the epistemological issue embedded within interpreting other people beliefs through one’s own cultural terms. Conducting research in Canada’s Yukon Territory since 1995 with the Kluane First Nation, Nadasdy has been dedicated to fighting the myth of the ecologically noble Indian and its harmful consequences. In a 2005 article he discussed the ambiguous relationship between indigenous and environmental activists, veering between hostility and alliance (discussed further in part IIB). The root of the problem, Nadasdy says, is that Indigenous peoples and conservationists do not speak the same language, although the latter tend to ignore this fact in order to serve their own interests. Reading Indigenous practices through the lens of Western values often leads to misinterpretation and erroneous conclusions. In the lineage of the theories advanced by Lévi-Strauss half a century before (see Part IA3), Nadasdy declared that the use of the problematic concepts of “environmentalism” and “conservation” poses problems within the relationship between indigenous peoples and environmentalism. In 1999, Nadasdy advanced that co-management, in terms of integrating traditional ecological knowledge with modern science was doomed to failure and might reinforce numerous western cultural biases that risk counteracting community involvement in land and wildlife management (Nadasdy 1999). In the tradition of Edward Sapir and Benjamin Lee Whorf’s linguistic relativity hypothesis, Nadasdy postulates that the terms ʻenvironmental/ ecologicalʼ, ʻknowledgeʼ and

17 Here, the contribution of Canadian anthropologist Wade Davis is interesting. Davis invokes the concept of ‘ethnosphere’ as humanity’s great legacy. He points out the correlation between cultural and biological diversity. Davis writes about different ways of being, and refers to complex metaphysical networks. Rejecting philosophers he deems simplistic like Rousseau and Thoreau, Davis wants to attract our attention to Indigenous peoples’ relationship to the Earth because of its complexity. Davis says that the Earth exists because it is breathed into being by human consciousness, so that it lives through indigenous cultures. According to Davis, Indigenous beliefs and special connections with plants and animals (he discusses the use of psychedelics) allow them to have a more respectful relationship to the Earth. 18 “To some extent knowledge of the causes and consequences of harvests through time is required (Holt 2005). To be sure, this knowledge does not have to be empirically accurate. For example, a belief system that postulated that game spirits cause game species to hide at the bottom of a lake if they are hunted too intensively and that they will reappear only if hunters limit their harvesting is a belief system that could lead to conservation. The dynamics between scarcity and plenty are correctly associated with levels of human predation, but the mechanism (spiritual intervention) is incorrect.” (Hames 2007: 184) 34

ʻtraditionalʼ refer to ideas foreign to indigenous cosmologies. For instance, ʻtraditionalʼ denotes that the culture is frozen in the past and cannot evolve, which is misleading when referring to indigenous peoples whose lifestyles are constantly shifting. Nadasdy also highlights that the terms ʻenvironmental/ ecologicalʼ implies a stark dualism between man and the rest of the world (p. 4). The word ‘knowledge’ is also problematic for it entails a Western Cartesian duality (p. 5). Nadasdy’s reflection concords with Hallowell’s who pointed out the importance of replacing concepts within different cosmologies. As Nadasdy argues, Indigenous people are neither the original ecologists that many NGOs would have us believe, nor enemies of the environment. Nadasdy advances that Kluane people are not environmentalists, not because they are anti- environmentalists, but because the terms of the debate do not apply to them. They are merely people with a complex set of beliefs, practices and values that have nothing in common with Euro-American schemes of categorisation (Nadasdy 2005). Hence, although it is undeniable that Indigenous beliefs and practices may be more ecologically- friendly than Western ones, they cannot be deemed conservationists for the very concept of conservation lies outside of Indigenous values, as I will develop in the following part. Indeed, biolo- gist Janis Alcorn pointed out that the word ‘conservation’ did not have any equivalent in non- European languages (1993, 425). I will now discuss the consequences of judging indigenous people’s culture of conservationist, an outsider concept – dubbed the ‘catch-22’ of conservation by Flora Lu Holt (2005).

2. The catch-22 of conservation It is morally questionable to use the word conservationist to define practices that have nothing to do with conservation. In effect, conservation being a western concept, indigenous peoples simply cannot be conservationists, as has been argued above. In this part, I will discuss the unreasonable expectation that indigenous peoples should embrace conservation lifestyle prior to being aware of such a concept. For the US government “conservation commonly refers to the maintenance of genetics, species, and ecosystem diversity in the natural abundance in which they occur”19. In an article on East African Pastoralists by Ruttan and Borgerhoff Mulder (1999), although aware of the Office of Technological Assessment definition, note the difficulty to reach consensus on the identification of behaviours that should be labelled ‘conservation’. The two scholars highlighted that for evolu- tionary ecologists, conservation acts imply the sacrifice of immediate rewards, while for other researchers the existence of an intent to conserve is sufficient for being labelled as ‘conservation’ (idem., see also discussion in Part IB1). As discussed in the first part, in order to practice conservation, it is necessary to understand the consequences of hunting, harvesting or extraction of resources. If conservation implies that populations will refrain from harvesting or hunting with the purpose of sustaining resources on the long-term, then many Indigenous peoples do not practice conservation because they are not always aware of resources’ scarcity, as stated above. The main ethical critique of the practice of analysing an extra-European culture through Europe- an concepts, is that it creates unreasonable expectations on indigenous communities and thereby it feeds a radical conservationist discourse aiming at excluding indigenous peoples from their lands. Indeed, as I have shown in chapter Part IB3, the 20th century radical conservationists appear as the inheritors of 19th century romantic thinkers who preferred denying indigenous rights rather than jeopardising their cherished wilderness. Many use the argument that indigenous peoples are not as eco-friendly as they should be and that they are easily corruptible to exclude them from conservation policies.

19 (Office of Technology Assessment 1987) 35

For instance, environmental economist Randall Kramer and primatologist Carel van Schaik stated that although popular opinion tends to support resource conservation by ʻtraditional usersʼ, indigenous peoples only manage their resources as a consequence of their limited technology and low population density (epiphenomenal conservation in Hunn’s words as introduced in Part IB1). Kramer and van Schaik suggest that due to growing population, increased access to modern technology, market orientation, and erosion of traditional cultures, indigenous populations could no longer achieve resource control (1997: 6-7). 20 But is that really the case? Case studies demonstrating that indigenous peoples have in the past failed to sustain their resources and have caused severe irreversible environmental degradation, stand as powerful arguments for the radical environmentalists who preach that indigenous peoples should be expelled from reserves if we are to conserve species and resources. Oates uses the fact that many scholars have agreed upon the falsity of the ecological noble savage myth in order to assert that nature protection should come before human rights. Oates contends that traditional societies cannot be deemed conservationists and that when given the chance, people would overexploit the available resources (Oates 1999: 55). John Terborgh shares this essentialist and as I argue questionable view in which indigenous peoples are deemed incapable of managing resources sustainably because they are perceived as corrupted savages who would always make the most out of resources. Terborgh advocates for the ʼpolitical courageʻ to implement a ʻcarefully constructed and voluntary relocation programʼ for indigenous groups (1999: 56). It is worth including here a full paragraph from Terborgh’s writings in order to deconstruct it. “First contact with indigenous peoples has been described as obeying the Heisenberg uncertainty principle. Contact with modern civilization irrevocably changes people, so it becomes impossible to observe them as they were before. A man who is given a steel ax will never again pick up a stone ax in the manners of his forefathers. Acquisition of one-labor saving device creates a desire for more. The gift of a mosquito net or a set of clothing creates dependence in a society that was independent until the minute before. Contact alters life for both parties. One side is instilled with desires it never had before and a feeling of impotence and inferiority in the presence of technology it cannot understand or acquire. The other side is pressured into a form of charity that it knows will only foster dependence. First contact is thus a no-win situation.” (Terborgh 1999: 46) Drawing on Lévi-Strauss rhetoric, I suggest that it is easy to debunk Terborgh’s assertions about indigenous peoples’ evolution when introduced to modern technology. In Race et Histoire Lévi- Strauss stated that each society can split other cultures in three different groups in relation to itself: contemporary societies located in the same time but in a different space, those which occurred in the same place but predated it, and those which existed in a different time and space. Referring to the first group, he writes that it is extremely tempting to seek to establish, between cultures of the first group, relations equating to an order of chronological succession. In effect,

20 The prominent ethical problem with such worldviews is that they have no faith in the capacity or willingness of indigenous peoples to protect biodiversity. John Oates, an American primate ecologist and professor of anthropology, worshipper of pristine nature, who spent over thirty years doing biological fieldwork in Africa and India, is critical to the notion that conservation and development can be conducted together, he argues that this is a flawed myth perpetrated by people who want to feel good about conserving nature without enhancing poverty. Oates states that communities cannot comply to the standards required by international conservation policy (quoted in Dowie 2009, 84).

36 contemporary societies ignorant of electricity and steam engine obviously evoke the correspond- ing phase of western society’s development. It is thus tempting to compare indigenous tribes, without writing and metallurgy, but tracing figures on rocks and making stone tools, with the archaic forms of western civilisation, from which vestiges found in France and Spain’s caves certify the similarity. For Lévi-Strauss, fake evolutionism stemmed from these assumptions (1952: 28, my translation). But says Lévi-Strauss, this seducing game of comparing contemporary tribal societies with past western societies is extremely pernicious. Terborgh and other protectionists seem to make a radical distinction between ecologically friendly communities who have remained at a state of noble savages because of their limited population growth and technology, and communities that represent a threat to the environment because of population growth and entrance into the market economy. Such a dualism is misleading because it is human nature to evolve and change. If people are granted the right to remain on their land only if they conform to the cliché of the noble savage, there is an inherent moral problem. There is here the denial of evolution and change. This very biased and dark way of perceiving human nature is deeply problematic both ethically and morally speaking. Westerners seem to be depicted as responsible of Indigenous peoples, even as superior. This view of indigenous peoples as noble savages prior contact and corrupted savages after contact probably stem from the dichotomies discussed in chapter 1. The positive thing about the emergence of radical conservationists denying indigenous peoples the right to stay in their homeland based on the argument that they would not manage to protect biodiversity is that they point out what can go wrong with the belief that we are apart from nature. They awaken us to a different way of conceiving our place in nature. This is what journalist Mark Dowie argues when he declares that radical conservationists such as Terborgh, Spinage, and Oates inform progressive conservationists and anthropologists who believe that humans belong to nature as any plant or other animals of the dangers of their radical philosophy. Indeed, humans aware of their place in nature can be far better protectors of biodiversity than governments, park administrators, eco-guards, and idealistic biologists (see discussion in Dowie 2009: 89). Political ecologist Peter Wilshusen et al. (2002) have publicly criticised radical conservationists and discredited their arguments21. They particularly criticised Terborgh (1999) and Oates (1999) stating that authoritarian enforcement as policy is tantamount to reinventing a square wheel. They advocate for the incorporation of conservation scientists’ findings into a more holistic critical debate. Flora Lu Holt (2005), dismantles the noble savage stereotype in order to defend Huaorani’s dignity and astutely criticises radical conservationists’ arguments. Lu Holt dismantles radical conservationists’ discourses. Lu Holt states that examples from across the globe (see Lu Holt 2001) of successful common property regimes demonstrate that conservation does not necessitate top- down approaches. Common property regimes provide experience and infrastructure that may be used to address problems like overexploitation (idem.). Terborgh states that the introduction of western technologies within indigenous communities renders the latter dependent. If indigenous peoples are given rifles they will stop using blowguns, hence exploiting their natural resources, Terborgh advanced. Terborgh’s argument implies that indigenous peoples are noble conservationists before contact and corrupted savages after contact. He states that westerners are more concerned with nature protection because they have already experienced a state of nature degradation. That may be true but then it would imply that indigenous peoples cannot learn by themselves and should be taught what to do. This a very paternalistic view of conservation and an extremely essentialist view of indigenous peoples. Terborgh decides for indigenous peoples that because they would destroy biodiversity they should not be

21 (see Reinventing a Square Wheel: Critique of a Resurgent “Protection Paradigm” in International Biodiversity Conservation, Society & Natural Resources 2002) 37 allowed to use western technologies. When considering how many disasters have been caused by westerners because of guns, Terborgh’s argument can seem quite racist. Terborgh assumes that the response to western technologies would be the same for all Indigenous peoples. What if when introduced to shotguns, indigenous peoples learn more about resource scarcity and implement regulations in order to maintain game, asks Lu Holt? Lu Holt (2015) brilliantly underlines the absurdity of radical conservationists who criticise indigenous peoples for not being conservationists. Indigenous peoples deemed conservation- friendly because of their low-population density, their subsistence economies and traditional technologies – in sum the romanticised ‘noble savages’ – are precisely the ones who cannot practice conservation, simply because conservation is a western concept implying social and political institutions that patronise resource management. On the other hand, indigenous communities criticised by environmentalists because of their population growth, use of western technology and activity in the global market are better placed to implement conservation practices for they possess the necessary institutions. Lu Holt (idem.) points out that indigenous peoples can only practice conservation when they would know for themselves its importance. Indeed, Huaorani have learned about the scarcity of resources since introduced to Western technologies and are more in position of doing conservation than before contact where ideas of resource scarcity did not even exist for them. I appreciate Lu Holt’s approach that Western culture can be both a problem and a solution. Un- like Terborgh who conceives Western culture as a real threat to biodiversity conservation and writes a ‘Requiem for Nature’, Holt has a more philosophic approach to the question and notes that Western history, despite centuries of ecological disaster, has actually enabled us to arrive to a state of acute ecological awareness when we are able to use our knowledge, technologies and complex institutions for the cause of Nature protection. After all, environmentalism emerged from Western culture. Lu Holt looks at the situation with a smart look, seeing the bigger picture in a holistic way, as she writes: “I call into question the double-standards inherent in a resurgent protectionist argument: Western culture gives those on the inside the wisdom to know better but only corrupts those on the outside. It is simultaneously the problem and the solution, depending on whom it is being applied.” (Lu Holt 2005: 213) I agree with Holt that social science plays a very important role in revealing the human context of conservation. Working with people, free of stereotypes and assumptions, can do a lot for the sake of conservation and nature protection. Besides, denying the right to a dynamic culture and granting land rights to peoples for the sake of ecological aptitudes do not work as I shall discuss later.

3. What is intentional hybridity? Mikhail Bakhtin (1895-1975), Russian literary critic, linguist and philosopher, included the concept of hybridity – a term originally belonging to the field of genetics - into cultural and linguistic analyses. In The dialogic imagination (1981), Bakhtin defines hybridization as follows: “What is a hybridization? It is a mixture of two social languages within the limit of a single utterance, an encounter, within the arena of an utterance, between two different linguistic consciousness- es, separated by one another by an epoch, by social differentiation or by some other factor” (Bakhtin 1981: 358) Bakhtin distinguishes between organic hybridity, the unconscious fusion between two languages, and intentional hybridity: “an intentional hybrid is precisely the perception of one language by another language, its illumination by another linguistic consciousness” (Bakhtin 1981: 359). 38

Bakhtin’s analysis of hybridization in language and the novel has been applied to understand how differing worldviews mix when they encounter one another. German scholar Andreas Ackermann defined organic hybridity as the unintentional everyday fusing of diverse cultural elements (2012: 12). In 2013, British historian Peter Burke discussed the concept of cultural hybridity, which has been employed by post-colonial scholars in order to emphasise than colonized societies were not passive receptors of powerful global influences but that they have influenced Western ideology and in some cases altered the original meaning of imported concepts. Cultural hybridity symbolises how two distinct sources when brought together can produce a new organism. Here, drawing on post-colonial theory, I would like to argue that Indigenous cosmologies mixed with western concepts produce compelling cases of cultural hybridity, both organic and intentional. Indeed, when indigenous cosmologies meet western worldviews, they both mutually and simultaneously influence each other. Concepts acquire new meanings. In The Invention of God in Indigenous societies (2014), James L. Cox brilliantly analysed the trend of indigenous peoples around the world to re-interpret their traditional religions through the lens of Christian worldviews in order to reclaim their power, following Bakhtin’s lead. As their own beliefs were denied by Christian missionaries, many indigenous tribes came up with a new reading of their cosmologies through the lens of monotheism and the redemption offered by Jesus. Cox argues that fusing original beliefs with the coloniser’s religion is a strategy for Indigenous peoples to empower themselves. In fact, by reinterpreting their myths through the lens of the dominant worldview, they can legitimate their own beliefs. Cox states that where European have tried to impose their cultures, examples of intentional hybridity abound. Ackermann observed that several forms of cultural interaction can happen, organic hybridity tending towards fusion and intentional hybridity which expresses an active desire to contest the colonisers’ moral subjugation (2012). Cox gives unambiguous examples of intentional hybridity such as the Maori people of New Zealand who stated that their original divinity Io was merely another version of the Christian omnipotent God. Another example is the Rainbow Spirit Theology in Australia in which elders have not rejected the oppressors’ religion but instead have incorporated it into their own aboriginal culture and cosmology, claiming that the rainbow-serpent they believe in is not demonic as the missionaries postulate but equivalent to the Creator God. For the Rainbow Spirit Elders, their intentional creation of a hybrid religion liberates them from past oppression and serves as a conscious strategy to encourage pride in their cultural traditions. Cox points out that the introduction of the Christian God into indigenous worldviews has fostered both organic and intentional hybridity. On the one hand, pre-Christian ideas have coalesced with Christian teachings in an unreflective way (organic hybridity) on the other the appropriation of the Christian God as the indigenous deity represents a move to regain power over the invading culture (intentional hybridity). Incorporating the deity of the oppressor into traditional religious systems enables the victims to assert their own authority over their religious beliefs and practices by intentionally aligning the gods of tradition with the God of the Christian West. Thus, the Rainbow Spirit Theology challenges the power structures that have oppressed indigenous culture. The case of the Rainbow Spirit Theology in Australia is to be put in parallel with the invention of Mother Earth in America. In his book Mother Earth, an American story (1987), American professor of religious studies Sam D. Gill investigates the myth of one of the most well-known figures in Native American religions, Mother Earth. Gill contends that the concept of Mother Earth has only come into existence in America since the late 19th century and was mainly created through the interaction between scholars and Native Americans (Gill 1987: 7). Indeed, the story of Mother Earth is an American story that can only understood from the encounter between Native Americans and Eu- ro-Americans (Gill 1987: 6). Thus the case of Mother Earth in North America is a compelling case of intentional hybridity. Although Gill has been able to find numerous tribal traditions mak- 39 ing references to the earth in kinship terms, references to Mother Earth by native peoples only started in the 20th century (Gill 1987: 129) finding its roots in the colonial encounter. Finally, it seems that colonisation fostered the emergence of a Native American identity and thus encouraged the creation of myths that could corral the many indigenous tribes, uniting myths such as the one of Mother Earth (Gill 1987: 130). Another compelling example of intentional hybridity through Indigenous peoples’ adoption of ecological noble savagery is the case of the Kogi of Colombia who in 1990, with the assistance of director Alan Ereira, launched From the Heart of the World - The Elder Brothers Warning, a documentary to warn humanity about the global ecological crisis22. I suggest that the Kogi reclaim their identity and cultural pride as guardians of the planet whose mission is to ecologically educate the rest of the world. In the light of Cox’s study, I would like to suggest that indigenous peoples’ claims to be innate conservationists (which has happened frequently in the last decades as will be discussed later), represent cases of intentional hybridity. Indeed, indigenous peoples make use of western concepts (environmentalism, ecology, conservation …) in order to re-interpret their own cosmologies. In effect, as I have mentioned earlier, conservation is a foreign concept to indigenous cosmologies, but by reading their cosmologies and practices through the lens of western environmental concepts, indigenous peoples were able to define themselves as original conservationists. Besides, the appropriation of western concepts, such as ʻenvironmentalismʼ and ‘conservation’, encourages new meanings – which can be related to organic hybridity This case of intentional hybridity is fascinating because by appropriating themselves Western concepts, Indigenous peoples have regained their power over the colonial culture. They have been able to defend their traditional ecological knowledge in front of Western scientists. This is what Indian post-colonial theorist Homi Bhabha calls ‘mimicry’, a process that reverses colonial appropriation and constitutes a strategy for oppressed peoples to respond to the oppressors by adopting parts of the invader’s message. British postcolonial theorist Robert J.C. Young in his book Colonial desire: hybridity in theory, culture and race (1995), also supports the idea that the appropriation of the coloniser’s discourse fosters the emancipation of the colonised. The concept of hybridization as used by Bakhtin also helps to explain that the “ecological noble savage” myth did not acquire the same importance in different colonised countries. In effect, the ideas the colonisers brought really shaped the images indigenous peoples built of themselves to resist the invaders’ authority. For instance, the perception of Native Americans by white colonisers starkly differs from the perception of Aboriginal Australians. This could be explained by the prominence of the romantic movement in the United States. But Australia’s colonisation was not the deed of intellectuals. Most of the White immigrants who colonised the Australian continent were convicts who had very little education, if at all, since Australia was designed to be a penal colony for Great Britain (see Broome 2010). The significant difference in the White peopling of the United States and of Australia induced different prejudices towards the indigenous peoples of those countries. I suggest that the difference in the colonisers’ mind-sets led to different discourses adopted by colonised peoples. The importance of the environmental movement in the United States enabled Native Americans to reclaim part of their power through an ecological identity. On the other hand, in the Australian continent, environmentalism did not acquire the same importance, and thus Aboriginal Australians could not make use of the ecological noble savagery card in the same way than Native Americans. The myth of ecological nobility can thus be interpreted as a case of intentional hybridity because it enabled indigenous peoples to reclaim pride in their cultures. However, mimicry has its pitfalls. Indeed, indigenous peoples’ appropriation of the noble savage myth in order to create a

22 see www.alunathemovie.com 40 potent political tool nourished many ethical issues within conservation policies and struggles for land rights. These ethical issues will be the subject of the following part.

B. Eco-nobility as a political tool, special status and TEK used in global environmental governance: community-based conservation, responsibility, dangers and risks of essentialism

1. Eco-nobility: a dangerous tool The issue of indigenous ecological nobility has spilled out of the academic sphere 23 to enter the political arena. The tool of ‘eco-nobility’, a product of intentional hybridity as previously explained, spawns many ethical issues. As developed in the first part of this thesis, the myth of a wilderness apart from humans encourages ambivalent feelings towards indigenous peoples, sometimes assimilated to animals, or attributed the role of ecological angels. The dichotomist thinking renders this role extremely fragile for the least failure to comply to its ideal might make indigenous peoples fall from this pedestal into the alternative prison of ignoble savages. Besides, ‘eco-nobility’ denies the true equality between all humans in the midst of our current world ecological crisis. Yet, indigenous leaders have firmly supported the belief that indigenous presence on their land is correlated to the protection of its natural resources. In a September 1989 meeting in New Eng- land that brought together indigenous representatives from all around the world, indigenous leaders contended that for the sake of the world’s remaining natural areas, tribal land rights must be supported (van Lennep 1990, quoted in Redford and Maclean Stearman 1993). The leaders notably asserted that as indigenous peoples, they had always lived in accordance with the sacred and natural laws, in balance with the natural world. They presented themselves as standing on the front lines of the struggles to defend the natural world, asserting that indigenous peoples har- vest resources sustainably (van Lennep 1990, quoted in Redford and Maclean Stearman 1993). Indeed, many indigenous leaders have tried utilising the myth of the eco-noble savage in their political strategies. American anthropologist Beth Conklin interrogated the images propagated by indigenous communities in order to appear as authentic noble savages, examining the 1980s transformation of Amazonian politics and self-representations of indigenous activists following the rise of environmentalism and the spread of new communication technologies (Conklin 1997). Conklin contends that images of primitivism, exoticism and authenticity constitute potent political tools when used by indigenous peoples but that those tools carry contradictions and liabilities (Conklin 1997). Indigenous identity which used to be concealed, began to be proudly exhibited when it started coalescing with ideas of environmentalism and native south Americans learned the language of Western environmentalism and reframed their worldviews in terms of Western concepts (ibid). This, she advances, has allowed them to position themselves in the political sphere. Conklin states that some indigenous leaders benefit from this essentialist image and participated in strengthening it because they were facing land-rights issues and believed that conservationists could aid them in their struggles. However, Conklin asserts that the image of ecological nobility is false and entertained through symbolic activities of some indigenous leaders. These strategies, Conklin states, endangers indigenous communities’ interests and places them in a touchy situation towards their national governments who do not appreciate outside intervention from environmentalists on the subject of land rights (Conklin 1997).

23 Anthropologist Raymond Hames published a review on the subject in 2007 (“The Ecologically Noble Savage Debate”). Ac- cording to Hames (2007), “To some extent ecological nobility is related to a re-examination of the noble savage myth and relates to social egalitarianism (Boehm 1999), cultural psychology (Edgerton 1992), racism (Ellingson 2001), peaceableness (Keeley 1995, LeBlanc 2003)” (p. 178). 41

However, native Amazonian soon realised how detrimental images of eco-nobility could be in the political sphere because it enables environmentalists to assume paternalistic attitudes and to speak on their behalf. The alliance with native Amazonians for instance enabled environmentalists to get involved in indigenous affairs (Conklin and Graham 1995). But indigenous peoples do not necessarily appreciate to be used in environmentalists’ political strategies, as attested COICA (Coordinadora de las Organizaciones Indigenas de la Cuenca Amazonica), an organisation representing 229 native Amazonian groups and more than a million people inhabiting the rain forests of the Amazon basin. The organisation held a meeting in Iquitos, Peru in 1989, to discuss the relationship between indigenous peoples and the environment which resulted in a document 24. The COICA addressed the community of environmentalists in order to express indigenous peoples’ opinion in the debate over biodiversity and conservation and its will to the environmentalist community to let indigenous peoples represent themselves and let them determine their home- lands’ future. While the COICA appreciated environmentalists’ efforts to defend indigenous rights, it asserted firmly that indigenous peoples did not want to delegate their power of representation to the environmentalist community. The COICA wanted the implementation of new models which would be more democratic (quoted in Redford and Stearman 1993). But it was too late for many environmental organisations had already chosen to use the card of indigenous rights in order to defend their own environmentalist agendas. Furthermore, the tool of eco-nobility and the alliance between environmental organisations and indigenous ones remains dubious because the interests of indigenous peoples and those of environmentalists diverge greatly. Indeed, American scholars Kent Redford and Allyn MacLean Stearman discussed COICA’s statement in a 1993 paper, questioning whether indigenous peoples really have the same interests than western conservationists. Redford and Stearman conclude that the two groups define biodiversity and conservation in different ways, and state that conservation biologists’ interests may not be compatible with the agenda of indigenous peoples – although a cooperation between those two groups can lead to positive consequences (1993: 248). One prominent problem lies within the power game embedded in the relationship between indigenous peoples and environmentalists. Indeed, those ambivalent relationships are the scene of a new form of hegemony and domination. In a fascinating article, American anthropologist Paul Nadasdy highlighted the ambivalence of the relationships between indigenous peoples and environmentalists, the latter having rapidly switched from criticism to praise regarding the former over the last decades. As Nadasdy (2005: 292) points out, environmentalists often invoke indigenous traditions and philosophies when they articulate their own visions of the ecologically ideal society, and frequently try enlisting indigenous peoples as allies in environmental struggles. However, Nadasdy asserts that for every productive alliance between environmental advocates and indigenous peoples, there is a matching horror story, a story of misunderstanding and conflict (idem.). Alliances based on stereotypes are fragile and can quickly become contentious when the allies no longer fit the clichés, thus environmentalists and indigenous peoples have regularly stood on opposing sides in environmental struggles. Relations have often become hostile and violent as in the case of the Makal whale hunt (Nadasdy 2005). Indeed, indigenous hunting traditions rather irritate environmentalists defending animal rights. In such cases, indigenous peoples are no longer pictured as ecological noble savages but as the opposite, ignoble savages murdering endangered species. In his book Animal rights, human rights: ecology, economy and ideology in the Canadian Arctic (1991), Canadian geographer George Wenzel discussed the thorny controversy around indigenous seal hunting in the Arctic. The campaign to ban seal hunting in Canada won international headlines and achieved its aims to a large extent. Most observers felt instinctively that the campaigners were right but the ban on seal hunting would have disastrous consequences on the way of life and economy of a traditional

24 “Two Agendas on Amazon development” published in the journal Cultural Survival Quarterly 42 people the Inuit of Arctic Canada. Wenzel reminds us that Inuit have successfully adapted to a very hostile environment and that the animal rights movements seriously jeopardized Inuit relationship to their environment. The animal rights movement asserted that modern hunting technology and economic practices have so altered northern life that Inuit harvesting is neither essential nor linked to cultural tradition but this position actively dissociates Inuit from their identity (Wenzel 1991: 34). Environmentalists seem to use indigenous peoples interchangeably as allies or enemies in their campaigns. Nadasdy denounces “New Age spiritualists” and environmentalist thinkers who regard indigenous peoples as natural allies in environmental struggles when they can benefit from such an alliance (Nadasdy 2005: 292). First of all, the stereotype of ecological nobility denies the realities of indigenous people’s lives and the rich diversity of their beliefs, values, social relations and practices to a caricature although the image of ecological nobility is an unattainable ideal and scholarly research has abundantly demonstrated that indigenous peoples have never lived up this ideal (p. 293). As previously developed, the western concepts of “ecology” and “conservation” do not belong to indigenous worldviews. Nadasdy wants to highlight the political consequences of using terms such as ‘environmentalism” and “conservation” to describe indigenous beliefs and referring to another people’s worldview with Euro-North American cultural terms (Nadasdy 2005: 291) In the early 20th century, Italian Marxist theoretician Antonia Gramsci defined hegemony as the ability of those in power to convince others to see the world in terms favourable to their own ascendency. Hegemony involves a contradiction between the ideology of the subordinate that makes this interface into an inevitable site of ideological struggle (Fiske in Allen 1992: 291). Could it be that environmentalists’ strategy to enlist indigenous peoples in their own struggles reformulating their worldviews in Euro-American terms be a case of hegemony? Besides, producing knowledge about non-European peoples can foster the project of dominating them. Indeed, this is what Palestinian-American political activist and literary critic Edward Said advanced in Orientalism (1978). Said was able to show that there is no such a thing as value-free knowledge and that ‘knowing the Orient’ was part of the project of dominating it (Poata-Smith 2015). Said’s work can be used to deconstruct our own prejudices as environmentalists when making judgments about non-European peoples. Indeed, even well-intentioned environmentalists seem to impose their own worldviews on others. Thus, I suggest that when NGOs try imposing their environmentalist worldviews on indigenous peoples it is a case of hegemony. Environmental NGOs have chosen a discourse which entertains hegemony, imposing their own environmentalist understanding of Indigenous cosmology systems in which there is no such a thing as environmentalism. Environmental campaigns have often been represented as genuine conflicts, as illustrated by Nadasdy’s article featuring the utilisation of a war lexicon: ‘struggle’, ‘alliances’, ‘enlist’, ‘allies’, ‘victories’, ‘achieved’. Environmentalists have created an outside enemy embodied by environmentally destructive capitalist corporations. The struggle against mining industries reflects a binary worldview in which two parties are clearly identified: the capitalist greedy corporations and the innocent indigenous peoples defending their environmental-friendly lifestyle. This is not without recalling Niccolo Machiavelli’s famous political essay dating from 1531, The Prince, which compiles Machiavelli’s observations of politics and statecraft in Florence outlining how to obtain and preserve power. Machiavelli notably recommends creating an outside enemy which would bind followers to their leaders. This seems to suggest that there really is a power relationship between environmental NGOs and indigenous peoples when analysing them with the social sciences lens. Indeed, the fundamental concept in social sciences is Power which can take many forms such as wealth, armaments and influence on opinion (Russell 1938: 10). The relationship between conservationists and indigenous peoples is ambiguous and shall be 43 thoroughly questioned in order to implement a more ethical approach to green activism. Imposing a worldview on other people might be the most insidious exercise of power because it forces people to accept their role in the existing order of things (Lukes 1974: 24). The alliance between conservationists and indigenous peoples is doomed to failure if the former do not take into account that the latter are, just like any other human society, destined to change and to adopt different lifestyles. As Redford and Stearman assert, expecting indigenous people to keep a low- impact lifestyle is to deny them the right to evolve (Redford and Stearman 1993: 252). Indeed, if indigenous conservation practices were cases of epiphenomenal conservation (as developed in part I), patterns of low consumption are linked to lifestyles that should be free to evolve. I have tried to argue here that the tool of eco-nobility comes with very dangerous consequences. As discussed in the first part, indigenous peoples are merely humans, not ecological angels. When a false belief gets used to acquire political rights, it can have serious consequences. In 2007, Michael E. Harkin and David R. Lewis expressed their concern for the way Native Ameri- cans employ ecological nobility for political and ideological support for legitimacy. This constitutes a major problem though; I believe that indigenous peoples’ rights should be respected as human rights. The use of eco-nobility reveals that community-based conservation might still rely on the old dichotomies on which early conservationists rested.

2. Community-based conservation and essentialism Since 1975, the World Conservation Union (IUCN) and World Parks Congress have acknowledged the rights of indigenous peoples in protected areas and the need to accommodate these rights (Colchester 2004). At the turn of the millennium, community-conservation programmes became paramount as big conservation NGOs were harshly criticised for not including indigenous peoples in their projects (see Chapin 2004). Indeed, American anthropologist Mac Chapin denounced three big wildlife conservation organizations (WWF, Conservation International and Nature Conservancy) who had been damaging the lives of rural and native peoples in the establishment of reserves and creating conservation refugees (Chapin 2004: 30). It has been widely acknowledged that conservationists must include in their agenda the protection of human rights (Alcorn 1993: 426). Just like the tool of ecological nobility relies upon an essentialist image of indigenous peoples, community-conservation today seems to still rely on the old ghosts of dichotomies.

British zoologist Marcus Colchester involved in the NGO Forest Peoples, is one of the most articulate spokesmen for indigenous peoples confronted with fortress conservation. Colchester believes that it makes more sense for conservationists to work with indigenous communities rather than expelling them or ignoring them. Although Colchester acknowledges that pre-modern indigenous peoples have not always been perfect stewards of biotic resources, he does believe that indigenous communities are likely to be more respectful of their ancestral lands (quoted in Dowie 2009: 89-90). However, cooperative programmes are not always successful, mention as attested by a WWF survey investigating the effectiveness of protected areas worldwide coming to overwhelmingly unsatisfactory results for community involvement (Chernela and Zanotti 2014: 306). According to this survey, international conservation NGOs repeatedly fail to manage relations with local communities.

I contend here that the main problem which prevents community-conservation effectiveness is that it still relies on dichotomies, stereotypes and essentialism. For biologists, the unrealism on which community-conservation programmes rely prevent true conservation from happening. Indeed, some support that community-conservation is doomed to failure for conservation should be based on rigorous science. Brandon, Redford and Sanderson call community-based conservation approaches catchy phrases based on stereotypes, approaches that are misleading because conflicts over resources cannot be resolved with such ease (Chapin 2004: 21). For Redford nota- 44 bly, the community-conservation approach is based on the stereotype of the noble ecological savage used by indigenous peoples and their advocates to emphasize their right to land and gain support from important international conservation organisations (quoted in Chapin 2004: 21).

Community-conservation programmes often still rely on dichotomies and notably upon the assumption that man and nature stand apart. Nature appears as an icon to be protected from humans’ impact. Similarly, the assumption of a pristine nature can be found throughout discourses of many conservationist leaders. Talking about the Equator Prize, a project aiming at rewarding indigenous people and local communities for their participation in conservation, the CEO of the Conservation International NGO Peter Seligmann stated:

“The Equator Prize offers well-deserved recognition of the critical contributions made by indigenous people and local communities to the conservation of some of the most pristine natural environments left on Earth. We are honored to support the Equator Initiative and partner with these communities in this globally important work which benefits all humanity.” 25

This statement suggests to methat the dichotomies between mankind and nature previously discussed in part I, are still embedded in current conservation philosophy. The belief in wilderness is still widely spread, and western conservation paradigms still enmeshed with ‘science-fictions’ (Langton 1998). In 1998, indigenous Australian scholar Marcia Langton postulated that Aborigi- nal peoples and their land management traditions had been rendered invisible in post-colonial landscapes by various legal and science fictions. The declaration of terra nullius constituted a legal fiction, only countered by the Mabo decision in 1992 (I will discuss this in the third part), while the science fictions lie in western scientific and environmentalist beliefs. Langton firmly rejected the assumption that Aboriginal lands should be categorised as wilderness because no economic development has occurred in these areas (Langton 1998: 2). Another contentious ‘science-fiction’ assumes that Aboriginal people are responsible for the destruction of the rain forest and the extinction of the prehistoric mega fauna. Many writers have relied on this assumption to oppose Aboriginal land management practices such as the use of fire. The issue of fire use constitutes a critical issue in environmental history. Many indigenous populations have made use of fire for managing their lands, slash-and-burn agriculture (also called swidden agriculture) being a popular form of agriculture around the globe. Native Americans also made use of fire for managing their territories. It was found that several plant species actually need fire to regenerate, such as the chaparral and shrub species along the western coast of North America (see for instance Keeley 1987). The idea that fire is damaging the ecosystems is thus a paradigm that has been dismantled but continues to pervade conservation discourse.

Langton draws an interesting parallel between the obsession of fitting people into racial categories and the categorisation of indigenous lands as wilderness concealing a colonial assumption that the land was not really inhabited prior colonisation. Langton reminds that imperial history is filled of “sordid ‘scientific’ background” and denounces that although public information con- tradicts the colonial assumption of wilderness, policy makers still treat Aboriginal land as tabula rasa for the sake of ecological management. Those pseudo-scientific paradigms entwined with racist theories have to be dismantled if community-conservation is to stand on democratic grounds.

25 http://www.undp.org/content/undp/en/home/presscenter/pressreleases/2010/09/20/25-equator-prize-winners-for-the- environment-and-poverty-reduction.html 45

If community-conservation is not tremendously effective, it might be because it still relies on a false image of indigenous peoples, an image built in opposition to the white man’s identity (as outlined by Krech his book the Ecological Indian). The idea of indigenous innocence expressed in early conservationist writings such as John Muir may still be present in modern conservationist mind-set. To exemplify I will quote from John Muirs work Travels in Alaska:

“the Indian’s childlike attention was refreshing to see as compared with the deathlike apathy of weary town-dwellers, in whom natural curiosity has been quenched in toil and care and poor shallow comfort.” (Muir, 1915: 191). One of the main issues is that the idea of “community-conservation” conceals some simplistic assumptions about “community”. In a 1997 paper, Arun Agrawal, a Professor at the School of Natural Resources & Environment at the University of Michigan, pointed out that community conservation might rely on an overly idealistic idea of community. He contends that the history of community in conservation can be qualified of revisionist, for it is still widely believed that pristine ecosystems and innocent primitive communities that must be protected from the market economy and the state. The idea that indigenous communities must be protected from corruption underlies that they are fixed entities in time which fosters misleading expectations. Agrawal (1997: 16) points at the intellectual issues surrounding the idea of community. It is po- sitioned oppositely from that of modernity and it is wrongly assumed that community is synon- ymous with shared space and small size and that it constitutes a homogeneous entity. Agrawal (idem.) advances that in rural areas of poor economies, which represent the majority of the sites where community-based conservation programmes are concentrated, people may have similar occupations, depend on the same resources, use the same language and belong to the same ethnic or religious group. But Agrawal questions if it is really sufficient to promote cooperative conservation. Indeed, American anthropologists Janet Chernela and Laura Zanotti (2014) relate the abortion of an ecotourism project in the Amazon due to defective communication among the community26 . This article identifies the challenges that confront several stakeholders, including indigenous villagers and NGO consultants in forging community-based sustainable development projects. The researchers argue that if organisations do not take into account the importance of communities’ local moral framework, the projects will collapse . Further, Agrawal points out that the norms on which conservationist thinking rely do not correspond to realities. Entities such as “women” or “the indigenous” cannot be normalised. Agrawal strengthens that the notion of community itself changes over time in interactions within the im- agined community and with outsiders Another aim of community-conservation is to integrate ‘traditional’ ecological knowledge to conservation policies. The term ‘traditional ecological knowledge’ (TEK) has invaded the land and resources management discourse as attested by the burst of conferences, symposia, and workshops devoted to traditional ecological knowledge in the 1980s across the North. The prin- cipal objective of this activity has been to “collect and document” traditional ecological knowledge and to “integrate” it with scientific knowledge of the environment (Nadasdy 1999). It was hoped that by integrating the knowledge of aboriginal people who have spent their lives out on the land with that of scientific experts, the overall understanding of the environment will decuple and resource management will improve. But again, the idea of traditional ecological knowledge seems to greatly rely upon essentialism. Indeed, TEK conceals unexamined assumptions about indigenous culture. Following the lead of Morrow and Hensel (1992) who argued in the Alaskan context that many terms used in relation to the management of land and wildlife

26 “Limits to knowledge: Indigenous peoples, NGOs and the moral economy in the eastern Amazon of Brazil” (2014), 46

(quoted in Nadasdy 1999), such as “subsistence”, “conservation” and “traditional use” have no equivalents in the languages or cultural practices of aboriginal people, Nadasdy (1999), as discussed above also questions TEK and wonders whether those terms mask deep cultural differences. The concept of TEK might enclose indigenous peoples in a particular model fixed in time, for the word ‘traditional’ implicitly entails that there is no possible evolution. Nadasdy highlights that non-indigenous peoples can deny the adaptability and dynamism of aboriginal culture on the argument of ‘tradition’. Indeed, non-indigenous people may interpret changing practices and lifestyles of indigenous communities as proof that traditional knowledge is disappearing. The assumption behind the word ‘traditional’ enables them to question the opinions and knowledge of aboriginal people who do not live according to what they think should be a traditional aboriginal lifestyle. Nadasdy (1999) reports having heard a non-indigenous person dismiss an aboriginal people’s claim to possess traditional knowledge because the indigenous person went to school and drives a truck (p. 4). Besides, indigenous knowledge entails much more than ecological data; the dichotomy between nature and culture not being part of indigenous cosmologies, environmental and non-environmental topics are indistinguishable. Thus, the essentialism lying behind the ideas of ‘community’ and ‘tradition’ prevents indigenous people from self-determination and impeach them to embrace a dynamic culture. Because indigenous peoples seem subjected to outsiders’ conception of conservation in what is deem to be cooperative projects, community-based conservation programmes might conceal power relationships.

3. Self-determination and power The essentialism concealed in community-conservation programmes seem to foster a paternalistic attitude. For instance, the Wildlife Conservation Society, an American NGO, founded in 1895, although it had adopted policies of alliances with indigenous peoples through projects of local communities’ management, old prejudices of coercive conservation appear part through its discourse. The NGO notably pretends to “teach peoples how to be good stewards of their lands”, thus showcasing a paternalistic attitude.

In 2006, Agrippinah Namara, a consultant in natural resource management in Kampala, discussed the experiences of the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park in Uganda in order to question whether the paternalism that prevailed at the onset of conservation shifted to a genuine partnership with local communities. Namara relates that the Uganda Wildlife Authority management adopted a community conservation approach for the management of protected areas in order to achieve conservation goals. This approach includes education and awareness programme, the resolution of conflicts to minimise the impact of wildlife on communities and vice versa and consultation to get people’s ideas on the best way to manage wildlife and valuing communities as important stakeholders. Indeed, the importance of involving local governments and communities in natural resource management was strongly outlined the recent 2003 Fifth World Parks Congress in Durban.

Although it is often said that community conservation allows empowerment , Namara (2006: 45) questions whether communities are really respected in their efforts to conserve wildlife. Indeed, Namara states that rural communities do not possess a real political power, forest-edge communities cannot influence parliaments. Namara (2006: 52) contends that communities living at the border of protected areas are marginal, illiterate and do not have an effective political voice. In effect, decisions are mostly made in a top-down manner notably decisions about who gets con- cessions to operate businesses within protected areas and decisions about what resources communities can access from the protected areas, in what quantities and where. Most of these decisions are justified on the basis of “science”, which conceals unequal power relationships for not 47 everyone’s science is regarded with the same legitimacy (on this point see Midgley 2001 or In- gold 2000). Hence Namara (2006) reminds that the word ‘science’ itself is often used in order to back the dominant paradigm of the powerful and privileged. Hence, community-conservation is often about power, how power is exercised, by which means of authority (see discussion in Agrawal 1997). In current conservationist approaches, communities are still utilised by those in power to implement their own view of conservation. Indeed, if communities could genuinely self-determine, they would bring their own conception of conservation and thus transform conservation beyond recognition. As Nadasdy points out, if communities possessed real power about resource management, conservation would be utterly transformed for their understanding of conservation differ greatly from that of NGOs, scholars and governments . The very project of integrating traditional ecological knowledge with western science conceals inequality (Nadasdy 1999)27.

Although, it was also hoped that the integration of traditional knowledge with science would help to empower indigenous peoples and their communities, Nadasdy states that the idea of integration itself takes for granted existing power relations between aboriginal people and the state. Indeed, it implies that traditional knowledge is simply a new form of data to be incorporated into current management bureaucracies and utilised by resource managers. Furthermore, cultural beliefs and practices referred to as ‘traditional knowledge’ conform to western conceptions about knowledge (1999) hence forcing aboriginal people to express themselves in compliance to the institutions and practices of state management rather than to their own beliefs, values, and practices. The project of integration may foster the concentration of power in administrative centres rather than in aboriginal people’s hands because scientists and resource managers benefit from this new form of integrated knowledge, rather than aboriginal hunters and trappers. Ideally, the benefits should go to the ecosystem as a whole. Framing the conservation discourse in western terms might also encourage unequal power relations. Here, Morrow and Hensel’s language- based argument is directly applicable to an examination of the political dimensions of traditional knowledge (Nadasdy 1999).

Accordingly, when TEK is interpreted through western standards, and researchers or bureaucrats classify part of an elder’s testimony as irrelevant, it is a vivid example of unequal power relations at play. Eventually, the concept of knowledge is in itself very problematic because to many aboriginal people, TEK is not so much knowledge as it is a way of life. If anthropologists have long regarded knowledge as culturally constructed (e.g. Bulmer 1967; Evans-Pritchard 1937; Gladwin 1970) (quoted in Nadasdy 1999), as Nadasdy underlines, knowledge is constituted of power relations relations and draws its validity from them. In the light of Nadasdy’s reflections, I call into question the concept of community-conservation when it is managed and supervised by non-indigenous people. On that account, I question the awarding of indigenous peoples for their management efforts, according to conservation standards outlined by non-indigenous people.

Rewarding indigenous peoples for their efforts in conservation projects is precisely the aim of the Equator Initiative, a multi-sector partnership that brings together the United Nations, governments, civil society, and grassroots organisations (equator initiative.org). Its current partners include Conservation International, Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD), Eco agriculture Partners, Fordham University, the German Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and De- velopment (BMZ), the Government of Norway, IUCN-International Union for Conservation of Nature, The Nature Conservancy, PCI Media Impact, Rare, Swedish International Development Cooperation Agency (Sida), the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), United Na-

27 The Politics of TEK: Power and the integration of knowledge, Paul Nadasdy 1999 48 tions Environment Programme (UNEP), the United Nations Foundation and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID).

The Equator Initiative is thus a partnership between the United Nations, governments, civil society, businesses and grassroots organisations aiming at recognising and advancing local sustainable development solutions for people, nature and communities. According to the Equator Initia- tive website, the Equator Prize is awarded biennially to recognise and advance local sustainable development solutions for people, nature and resilient communities, in order to honour them on an international level “as local and indigenous groups across the world chart a path towards sustainable development” 28.

In order to support its areas of work, the Equator Initiative took ownership of the World Network Local Community Land and Sea Managers (WIN) in July 2013. WIN constitutes a network bringing together indigenous and local community land and sea managers to share their knowledge in managing ecosystems, protecting the environment and supporting sustainable livelihoods. Although the intent to empower indigenous knowledge and management seems highly laudable, I question this initiative in the light of Nadasdy’s reflections. Are these projects really empower- ing indigenous peoples or are these projects an incentive used by organisations policy-makers to have indigenous peoples conform to their views and their understandings of conservation?

One 2010 article published on the UNDP website, “Equator Prize winners honoured”29 particularly caught my attention. The article reviews the awarding of the Equator prize to twenty-five local and indigenous community groups from across the “developing world” at a gala event taking place at the American Museum of Natural History to acknowledge outstanding work in biodiversity conservation, poverty reduction and adaptation to climate change. Not only the use of the phrase “developing world” appears dubious, the fact that this very ceremony took place at the American Museum of Natural History is undoubtedly questionable. The choice of this location to ‘reward’ indigenous peoples calls into mind the essentialism with which indigenous peoples have been characterised from the onset of colonisation. Locating this ceremony at a museum of natural history shows that once again, there is an apparent dichotomy between western society embodying culture while indigenous societies constitute nature.

Besides, awarding indigenous communities for their efforts in biodiversity conservation entails that they are given responsibility, and expected to perform the roles of stewards of nature, thus denying them the right to self-determine. 30

Hence, implicitly or not the projects of such organisations remain questionable in the sense that they put responsibility on communities, and thus the environmental responsibility - which should obviously be the affair of everyone - remains primarily the responsibility of one part of the local population, the so-called Fourth-World.

28 The Equator Initiative also hold another project “Equator knowledge” which is a “research, documentation and learning program focused on local best practice in sustainable development”. The Equator Initiative works with partners to identify, document, and analyse the success factors of local best practice, and to catalyse ongoing peer-to-peer learning, knowledge exchange and replication of best practice 29 (http://www.undp.org/content/undp/en/home/presscenter/pressreleases/2010/09/20/25-equator-prize-winners-for-the- environment-and-poverty-reduction.html). 30 “The award ceremony, together with a policy forum, were convened by the UNDP and a host of partners to illuminate critical linkages between biodiversity conservation, healthy ecosystems, climate change and achieving the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs). Celebrities and opinion leaders joined top UN dignitaries to help deliver the message leaders that biodiversity and healthy ecosystems, which are being lost and degraded at unsustainable rates, are essential for achievement of the MDGs, and that front-line solutions advanced by local and indigenous communities offer tremendous opportunities for conservation and sustainable development and must be scaled up.” (UNEP website).

Another topic is especially symptomatic of the unequal power relationships at play in community-conservation projects, the thorny balance between human and wildlife life. Namara notably stated that one the most widespread and significant problems that communities living next to forest and wildlife protected areas in Africa face lie in the damage to crops and property caused by wildlife (p. 52). Indeed, the problems posed by wildlife and especially big predators constitute real dilemmas of conservation. How are we to give priorities between men’s livelihoods and the survival of certain endangered species?

According to the Wildlife Statute (Republic of Uganda 1996), the UWA has to gazette which animals can be treated as vermin and which are ‘problem animals’. Besides, communities cannot adopt control methods without the UWA’s approval. Namara reminds that traditionally, communities hunted and trapped vermin and thus controlled their numbers hence protecting their crops and livelihoods. But now it is illegal to apply control methods not recommended by UWA. Hence, the people have been disempowered to take action to protect themselves and their property for they risk penalties if they kill animals (p. 53). Remote communities are especially impacted because they need their crops in order to survive, thus children are often deployed as crop guard during daytime being denied educational opportunities.

Mountain gorillas, the flagship species, within BINP, represent a threat to crops, property and people’s lives in the areas that are close to their home range. The problem gets worse if park staff take tourists to view gorillas on private land owned by community members, thus creating a thorny conflict between landowners and park managers. UWA offered to purchase the land on which gorillas frequently roam, hoping it would terminate the conflict and since peasant cannot achieve any agricultural production from it, they agreed to sell off their land. However, the process of land valuation and purchase was embedded by unequal power relations since the terms of purchase were determined by a legally aware UWA and conservation NGO officials while the community did not really participate. The assessors and surveyors were hired by UWA and NGO officials while the peasants did not possess the necessary information to consider all the possible options of getting value out of their land. Hence the UWA has foregone the opportunity to create a real partnership with the community within Uganda’s most biologically diverse national park (p. 53-54). As Namara states, the land purchase is not a lasting solution for it solely shifts the frontier between the park and the people (p. 54). Local people fear that the park is expanding and pushing people out, and may eventually create a class of landless people, which might become a problem for remaining local communities.

The Uganda wildlife policy seems to focus on protecting wildlife with limited consideration for its impact on local people. The Ugandan example illustrates the difficulties posed by wildlife management and respecting people’s lives at the same time. Some cases give hope such as in an example around Lake Mburo National Park, in which UWA realised that the only way to protect the large numbers of wildlife living on community land was to ensure that local communities realise economic benefits. In this case, communities strongly resist the alienation of their land, implying that the solution resides in educating communities to their political rights.

How much authority is thus devolved to local communities? In Uganda, there has been a significant shift from the traditional exclusive management style of national parks, which did not allow resource extraction to collaborative management. in practice it is the Executive Director of UAW who may issue a permit to any person for accessing resources from protected areas and decide in which way those resources are to be collected. In BINP for instance, activities allowed constitute beekeeping and access to medicinal plants, basketry materials, seedlings of indigenous tree species, bamboo rhizomes to plant on farms, footpaths to spiritual and cultural sites.

Namara contends that many protected area authorities in Africa remain unwilling to involve local people in genuine partnerships. According to him, communication between park authorities and communities are tainted by power relations. If resources available for harvesting were limited by park authorities, responsibilities such as patrolling illegal activities, reporting law-breakers, as- sisting in extinguishing forest fires, maintaining detailed records, are placed on the shoulders of local communities. It appears that the community’s responsibilities have outweighed its rights. Hence, there seems to be no compensation for all the costs entailed by the national park.

The power relations are characterised by a specific lexicon, in effect park authorities often utilise the word ‘privilege’, instead of ‘right’, this distinction between ‘privilege’ and ‘rights’ is however quite crucial because local people are more likely to be managed as subjects. Namara con- demns community-conservation for being collaborative solely in appearance, that local communities are given privileges rather than rights and that local communities have more responsibilities than benefits in conservation programmes. Local authorities are more likely to feel free and responsible when privileges become rights.

Perhaps the problem lies in the idea that collaborative management is a tool for conservation, rather than an end in itself. The paternalistic attitude the UWA - amongst other conservation organisations - showcases causes many ethical issues. Conservationists sometimes think they can decide for peoples what their needs are.

In Uganda, like elsewhere, community-conservation sometimes impeach self-determination for indigenous peoples. There is an urgent need for the equitable participation of all key stakeholders. Truly, if there is to be indigenous self-determination, there must be rights rather than privileges. Hence, indigenous activism appears paramount.

In the next part I will draw a case-study between two cases of indigenous activism showcasing different discourses. The Kayapo Brazilians who mostly relied on the idea of ecological nobility, and the Yolngu Australians for whom the emphasis lied mostly as their rights as humans to manage their lands. I will examine and compare the impacts of both discourses.

PART III Land management, indigenous activism and the ENS myth: comparison between Kayapo and Yolngu

A. The case of the Kayapo Indians

1. Context Because the case of the Amazonian Indians so pertinently illustrates the idea of eco-nobility as a political tool, I will review here the case of the Kayapo Brazilians who used ecological nobility in their campaigns for land rights. The consequences of this chosen discourse will be reviewed in a third part. The Amazonian rain forest, sometimes called the world’s lungs, has been at the centre of the environmental crisis, as various stakeholders have tried to impose their agenda in the region.31 The Amazonian rain forest is spread through eight South American countries. Brazil gained its independence from Portugal in 1822 when Joao IV’s son Pedro was crowned emperor, and although at the end of the 19th century, pressures for a republican government began to mount (Levine 1999: 17), seven decades of monarchy followed colonialism before giving way to a federal republic which was only nominally democratic (Levine 1999: 14). The military regime ended up lasting until 1985. Perhaps as an upshot of the dictatorial regime in place, indigenous peoples’ rights to territory in Brazil have been difficult to negotiate. According to Bra- zilian scholar Georgia Carvalho, in Brazil the rights of indigenous peoples to their lands has always been contentious despite its prominence as a human rights issue” (Carvalho 2000: 461). Georgia Carvalho also emphasised that Brazil’s historical discriminatory and marginalising treatment of its indigenous population contrasted with other Latin American countries (Carvalho 2000: 461). Carvalho notably reminds her readers that Brazil considered indigenous people as minors until the adoption of the 1988 Constitution. According to her, the Brazilian state has failed to guarantee and enforce the rights of indigenous peoples as they exist on paper. Politically strong economic and security interests that compete with indigenous peoples for land rights have been able to dominate this policy arena. Most politicians hoped that Brazilian indigenous people would become civilised, Christian and Brazilian would mix to the rest of society, thus ceasing to be a problem. The Kayapo, a Gê speaking group from Central Brazil, historically occupied widespread areas of the upper Araguaia and Xingu watersheds (Hecht 2003: 357). Although the Kayapo have been considered as marginal people unable to adapt to their environment, they are abundantly adapted to the diversity of the campomato ecosystems in which they are found (Posey 2002: 82). They have a vast expertise of the social insects of the rainforest, whose patterns they can identify to, they must know ants to be good hunters just as they must know wasps if they are to be coura- geous warriors (Posey 2002: 92).

31 The word Amazon is said to arise from a war between the conquistador Francisco de Orellana and South Amazonian tribes. Since tribal women fought alongside men, Orellana derived the name Amazonas from the ancient Amazons of Asia and Africa described in Greek legends. The very etymology of the word thus reminds us that nature is perceived as a powerless woman for the conquest of whom men fight (see Merchant 1980).

Posey, Anderson and Hecht conducted research about Kayapo’s land management, thus disman- tling the myth of a pristine nature prior to white contact. As previously mentioned when I discussed the erroneous myth of a pristine nature, Hecht asserted that Kayapo land management today is a truncated version of what used to be their land-use practices (Hecht 2003: 369). Through their resource management patterns, Kayapo peoples have played an important part in maintaining a high biological diversity on their lands, demonstrating once again that anthropogenic presence can be correlated to biodiversity. The studies of resource management and utilisation by indigenous people show that maintenance of high biological diversity is not necessarily the antithesis of resource exploitation (Anderson and Posey 1989: 171). For thousands of years, the Kayapo have been able to manage the Amazonian soil to form terra preta or terra mulata using burning practices that are often discredited in Western agriculture. As previously stated, although fire has been demonised as a land management tool, evidence from virtually all forested landscapes has revealed its utility and ecological importance (Hecht 2003: 362). In the first part of the 20th century, Kayapo populations were decimated by diseases and warfare. The Kayapo spent decades fighting for their territory and fleeing towards the east as the colonial frontier progressed. Most remaining Kayapo groups were ‘pacified’ by government agents and missionaries in the late 1950s and 60s (Zimmerman 2010). Their warrior culture dominated as late as the 1960s. During the 1970s, the Kayapo society underwent significant changes as increasing contact fostered the adoption of western clothes and the widespread use of guns and metal tools (Verswijver 1996, quoted in Zimmerman 2010). At this period, they became sedentary and ceased warring except when there was a direct territorial threat. At this time, they fought to have their lands demarcated and protected their borders from ranchers. The land claimed by the Kayapo was continuously invaded by ranchers, miners and loggers. Nowadays, the Kayapo inhabit six legally ratified indigenous territories in the south of the state of Para and the north of the state of Mato Grosso. As in the year 2010, the total contemporary Kayapo population approaches 7000 people living in 18 villages in 5 territories equalling to 105,000 km² (Zimmerman 2010: 64). In the late 1970s, gold was discovered on Kayapo lands around the eastern villages of Gorotire and Kikretum. The issue was divisive for community leaders, some wanted to participate in the trade while others did not. If in 1980, the Kayapo removed goldminers by force with the help of the Federal Police and the federal government Indian Agency (FUNAI), the gold-miners soon returned and in 1982, Pombo, one Kayapo leader signed an illegal contract with a gold-mining company. Gold-miners were allowed to mine under the stipulation that they pay him 10% of the gold extracted (Zimmerman 2010). Pombo was considered a great chief because he shared with his people everything he earnt from the gold mining revenues in the spirit of his traditions. The Kayapo of Kikretum who benefited from western goods which they became accustomed to. As gold mining became less profitable, Kayapo leaders started accepting bribes from mahogany loggers. The mahogany trade lasted for a while and profoundly impacted the species’ reserve in the Amazon region. Besides, by 2000, the mahogany trade had seriously damaged communities’ livelihoods which fought other remnant patches of small trees, and Kayapo society had not gained developmental benefits from the trade. Under international pressure, in 2002, the federal government eventually suppressed mahogany logging (Zimmerman 2010). Thus, Kayapo communities – merely like any other human group – are not ecological angels and were attracted by the appeal of wealth and goods to be found in the gold and mahogany trades. For leaders, the priority resided in the well-being of the community and the sharing of resources rather than in nature’s conservation. However, in the 1970s the Brazilian government launched a series of huge development projects alongside the cooperation with illegal trades in resource extraction, the Kayapo acquired international fame in the late 1980s when they protested against the Brazilian government’s project to build several hydroelectric dams along the Xingu River which would have flooded their territories and threatened their traditional customs. In these protests the Kayapo relied extensively on 53 the ecological noble savage image and discourse. Forest-dwelling peoples’ organisations had repeatedly expressed their concern about destruction of their forests (Alcorn 1993: 224), but this has been especially glaring in the Kayapo case. Because corporations and governments threatened both Amazonian biodiversity and Indigenous peoples’ livelihoods, the interests of indigenous peoples and those of conservationists merged and alliances became possible. The prominence of the land for Kayapo people and their readiness and determination to fight for it, as underlined by the following quote, fostered a dynamic alliance between them and environmentalists’ organisations, as is claimed by José Carlos Arara (International Rivers, March 2010): “Our ancestors are there inside this land, our blood is inside the land, and we have to pass on this land with the story of our ancestors to our children. We don’t want to fight but we are ready to fight if we are threatened. We want to live on our land in peace with all that we have there”, However, although the interests of Kayapo and environmentalists might have merged, their worldviews and the reasons behind the attachment to the land diverged. Hence, this alliance was built on a fragile ground. But above all, the fact that the Kayapo have adopted a discourse which was not originally theirs in order to acquire support from conservationists ended up harming them and their integrity.

2. Alliance between Kayapo and NGOs In the 1990s, as indigenous peoples and environmentalists shared a common cause in opposing the establishment of dams, roads and mines, Native Amazonians emerged at the forefront of new global policies linking international issues to local indigenous struggles (Conklin and Graham 1995). International NGOs such as the Environmental Defense Fund, the National Wildlife Fed- eration, the Nature Conservancy, the Rainforest Action Network and the WWF joined forces with indigenous communities in defence of indigenous peoples’ rights to land and resources (idem.). The internationalisation of local Amazonian struggles changed the political situation of Native Amazonians as new forms of transnational, transcultural encounters and alliances emerged. Indigenous leaders became prominent in the sphere of environmental activism. Payakan, a Kayapo leader, gained a particularly high visibility when he travelled from 1988 to 1992 to seven European countries, met with political leaders such as French president Francois Mitterrand and former US president Jimmy Carter, and gained international celebrity. In Febru- ary 1989, in order to protest against the building of the Kararao and Babaquara hydroelectric dams, Payakan accompanied by other Kayapo leaders and Indigenous representatives, organized a huge political protest in the town of Altamira that attracted hundreds of foreign journalists. Indigenous spokespersons were thus represented at major environmental conferences as authentic noble savages detaining the secrets of effective conservation. Kayapo leaders have participated in mass media representation, such as North American and European television, and international conferences in order to defend their communities (Turner 1993). Projects fostering the development of Pan-Indian activism were facilitated by the adoption of technological tools (Conklin 1997: 717). Brazilian Indians utilised the political possibilities of using indigenous dress and symbols to gain media attention, and most especially the Kayapo. Conklin notably relates the case of two Kayapo leaders, Payakan and Kubei, accused of betray- ing Brazil’s interest by speaking with US congressmen and World Bank officials to resist funding for a hydroelectric dam project that would have flooded Kayapo villages. The leaders appeared at court dressed in their traditional costumes thus reaffirming their identity and tactically gaining the media’s attention and sympathy (Conklin 1997: 720). The main problem and danger of this political strategy is that it reinforces the arguments of those who do not accept the evolution of indigenous identity and its resiliency and who resolutely contend that indigenous identity can be authentic only when it fits to essentialist definitions. In sum,

54 this strategy feeds the argument of paternalistic conservationists who will not accept indigenous right to self-determination and self-definition. For more than fifteen years Conservation International (CI) and, more recently, NGO Kayapo partners the Environmental Defense Fund (EDF), The Wild Foundation (WF) and International Conservation Fund of Canada (ICFC), have invested in programs of territorial control, economic alternatives and local indigenous associations with the Kayapo (Zimmerman 2010). American anthropologist Terence Turner who has been working with the Kayapo since 1962 has emphasized that strengthening Kayapo self-awareness and pride in native culture has revitalized environmental activism. Environmentalism created an audience that enabled the Kayapo to become international stars in much the same way that receptive audiences are essential to the making of Hollywood stars (Turner 1993). Similarly, in 1994, anthropologist William Fisher discussed Kayapo Indigenous politics32 and postulated that Kayapo presence in the publicity and mobilizations surrounding the environmental movement had been attributed by social scientists and the media to resiliency of their cultural traditions which flourish only in harmony with the tropical forest. In order to ally with environmentalists, the Kayapos had to re-invent their identity as indigenous peoples. This new identity was subjected to much controversy, because the Brazilian government tried to subject it in order to match its interests. Indeed, in the 1980s, the Brazilian government wanted to implement a measure in its new constitution stating that any indigenous person who had the ability to bring a legal action to court could no longer be considered as indigenous and thus was impeached from bringing a legal action on behalf of an indigenous community (Turner 1993: 534). The image chosen by Kayapo people in order to attract environmentalists’ support, however fostered the essentialism embedded within Brazilian mentalities and did not help them advance their legal and political conditions.

3. Ecological noble savagery and its pitfalls Conservationists and NGOs created an image of indigenous peoples that does not correspond to their past and certainly does not accurately represent native peoples as a whole (Brosius 1999). Anthropologist Raymond Hames stated that this image is designed to engender donations and support because it corresponds to pre-existing values of first-world donors and their supporters (2007). The Kayapo case revealed the sad truth that indigenous peoples are expected to demonstrate their qualities as land stewards if they want to acquire land entitlements from their respective governments; this tends to conceal the basic human right to a home territory that should also belong to indigenous peoples (Stearman 1994: 352). However, minorities are often tempted to seize opportunities when they appear. Occasions of protest among poor people are nonetheless delimited by social structure in ways which usually diminish its extent and force, as outlined by American sociologists and political activists Richard Cloward and Frances Fox Piven (quoted in Fisher 1994). Drawing on Piven and Cloward’s insights, Fisher postulates Fisher attempts a sociological analysis of the Kayapo discourse. Accord- ing to him, indigenous peoples seized the environmentalist opportunity in order to reclaim their rights and their identity. Environmental activists have used indigenous leaders’ symbolic capital as a political tool. Fisher asserts that the ability of poor people to cause significant political dis- ruption is historically short-lived (idem.: 27-32, quoted in Fisher 1994) and emphasises the danger of relying on the “guardian of the rainforest” image, although this image constitutes a very efficient tool – perhaps because the general public is extremely sensitive to romantic clichés.

32 “Megadevelopment, environmentalism and resistance” 55

The perspectives provided by the ENS image are indeed short-lived as the Kayapo case attests. Indeed, although the World Bank decided to withdraw its financial help from the dam project after the success of the Altamira gathering (Turner 1993), forcing the Brazilian government to abandon its project, the licence to build Belo Monte was eventually granted in June 2011 (Jaichand and Sampaio 2013: 408). Today, no less than six hundred kilometres upriver from Kayapo lands in Para, the Belo Monte dam is under construction. Planned to be the third largest hydroelectric dam in the world, it will divert the flow of the Xingu River, highly endanger its natural resources, and displace over twenty thousand people, threatening the survival of the Kayapo as well as other indigenous communities living along what is known as the Xingu’s Big Bend (International Rivers, March 2010). According to Philip Fearnside, Brazil’s foremost expert on reservoir emissions hydroelectric dams emit methane, a greenhouse gas twenty-five more dangerous in terms of global warming than carbon dioxide (experts panel assesses Belo Monte dam viability, October 2009). The Bra- zilian government, as well as Brazil’s national bank (BNDES), foresaw with the dam construction the promises of Brazil’s economic development. Brazil’s current president Dilma Rousseff is much more interested in economic growth than in indigenous peoples’ rights. She aims at turning the Amazon into an industrial heartland to fuel Brazil’s fast-growing economy (The Guardi- an, May 2013). Since the fall of the dictatorship in 1985, Rousseff is the only president who has not met with indigenous peoples. If the 1988 constitution brought indigenous people rights to their land, these achievements are under serious jeopardy with the current dam construction (idem.). Ultimately, the discourse of ecological nobility advanced by the Kayapo at the end of the 20th century, legitimised a paternalistic attitude from western conservation organisations. One of the most egregious cases is probably revealed in the public discourse of the International Conserva- tion Fund of Canada, which claims to be the first and only Canadian charity to focus solely on conserving nature in the highly biodiverse tropics and other priority areas worldwide (http://icfcanada.org). The ICFC website makes extensive use of the image of ecological nobility as illustrated by the following statements: “The Kayapo are the guardians of the rainforest. For thirty years they’ve been on the front line of rainforest defence, protecting the world’s richest ecosystem for all. Donate to support their conservation work today” (ICFC website kayapo.org). Because of the discourse they participated in building, the Kayapo seem to have been enclosing themselves in an essentialist and reductionist image of themselves, denying themselves the right to evolve and to escape from the role of the ecological noble Indian. A video displayed on the ICFC website - “Kayapo: defenders of the Amazon” – depicts the Kayapo as “guardians of the land”, claiming that their culture is on the verge of extinction and that Kayapo peoples depend on alliances with outside organizations to develop sustainable enterprises, to monitor and protect their land. They are said to be “the world’s best hope for protecting the rainforest” (idem.). This is not to say that the ICFC’s work is detrimental. Indeed, it can also be positive. Kayapo lands being located in a region of rapid deforestation, because of their location at an agricultural frontier, since 2007, the ICFC sponsors a program entitled “Securing protection of Kayapo In- digenous territories in the Brazilian Amazon” which aims to enable the Kayapo to protect eleven million hectares of their lands from deforestation. The goal of the ICFC has been to allow Kaya- po NGOs to manage “sustainable and culturally compatible economic activities” implemented by the ICFC, thus “reducing the temptation to accept cash for unsustainable activities” (ICFC website). The ICFC has for instance promoted activities deemed sustainable, such as nut production. The ethical issue is that although the ICFC aims at helping the Kayapo developing sustainable management of their lands, the Canadian NGO still attributes a role of stewards of the rainforest to indigenous people and by so doing dictate their place in the world today. The ICFC is surely 56 defending Kayapo’s human rights but is that simply because of its intention to conserve and protect tropical biodiversity? What would happen to Kayapo’s ownership if they no longer choose to live a life of ecological angels? Would they be deprived of their lands if they do not accom- plish the role environmentalists have attributed them? The failure of the eco-tourism project related by Chernela and Zanotti (2014) also reveals that todays’ conservationists’ policies still have essentialist expectations towards the Kayapo. Indeed, when Conservation International staff met with several Kayapo groups to discuss the establishment of an eco-tourism site in March 2000, misunderstands and tensions emerged (Chernela and Zanotti 2014). Because the eco-tourism project would have enabled the enrichment of solely one village, the election of a site to implement an eco-tourist reserve fostered rivalries among Kaya- po groups which finally led to the abortion of the project. Thus, here is a case where the conservationists have failed to take into account indigenous moral economy which I suggest showcased a stereotyped approach toward indigenous peoples as innocent noble savages. As advanced by scholars Jaichand and Sampaio (2013), acknowledging land and cultural rights for the Kayapo must enable the protection of a basic human right, the right to have a particular way of life. The conflict over the construction of the Belo Monte dam is complex and requires to be dealt with sensitivity. With the dam construction, the Brazilian government seems to return to a colonisation policy, violating indigenous rights with impunity. This violation constitutes a step backward on the road to a multicultural and peaceful world (idem.).

B. A different case: Aboriginal activism in Australia and the success of the Dhimurru IPA in Arnhem Land The case of the Kayapo previously discussed demonstrated that when an indigenous society uti- lises the political discourse of the ecological noble savage myth, it is prone to leading to political failures. Besides, as I have argued the utilisation of the myth also encourages and fosters a paternalistic attitude from conservationists towards indigenous peoples. I will now discuss a very different case, the one of indigenous Australians who in their struggle for rights have made use of a contrasting rhetoric, a discourse based on human rights and not on a myth of ecological nobility.

1. Aboriginal activism: based on democracy and human-rights I advocate the relevance of the case-study between Kayapo and Yolngu people and its interest in order to explore the consequences of different rhetoric. Indeed, Australia and Brazil, both located in the southern hemisphere, are of similar sizes (8 million square kilometres), they are both former colonial states in which a tiny minority of indigenous peoples continue to live in reserves at the margin of society. While Kayapo Brazilians have chosen the utilisation of the noble savage discourse, most Aus- tralian Aboriginal people have not. This could be explained through the political and historical context of those countries. Although, indigenous rights have also been denied in Australia until the latter part of the twentieth century, aboriginal activism took on a different face on the Ocean- ian mainland because Australia, unlike Brazil, is a democracy. Thus, I suggest that because of different political regimes in place, indigenous peoples have not relied on the same strategies for their discourses. Aboriginal activism in Australia relied on democratic manoeuvres while Brazil- ian Indigenous activism relied on more confrontational methods, and in the case of the Kayapo, the mobilisation and utilisation of the international opinion’s sensitivity for ecological nobility. The differences in the political regimes in Australia and Brazil may explain the differences in the discourses of indigenous Australians and Brazilian Indians. However, for the sake of clarity and 57 brevity, in this thesis I choose not to explore further the reasons why Yolngu and Kayapo have opted for different strategies. Instead I confine myself to discussing the displays and impacts of the different activist discourses. The foundation of democracy was set from the year 1823 as the UK Charter of Justice established a system of justice for Van Diemen’s Land 33. The New South Wales Act of 1823 (UK) authorised the establishment of a legislative council in New South Wales and Australia’s first supreme courts in New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land. The Legislative Council conducted its first meeting in 1824. In 1901, the Federation of Australia was constituted from the six separate British self-governing colonies of New South Wales, Queensland, South Australia, Tasmania, Victoria and Western Australia. When the Constitution of Australia came into force on January 1st, the colonies collec- tively became states of the Commonwealth of Australia. With the Commonwealth, Australia became an independent nation. The British Parliament passed legislation allowing the six Aus- tralian colonies to govern in their own right as part of the Commonwealth of Australia. It was established as a constitutional monarchy, constitutional for it was established upon a written constitution, and monarchy because Australia’s head of state remained the Queen of England34. The Australian Constitution is the most important document in Australian government history, it defined its structure, powers and procedures and defined the rights and obligations of the states in relation to the Commonwealth. This constitution was brought to life through a British Act of Parliament, the Commonwealth of Australia Constitution Act. Although Australian democracy lies in the lineage of Western European tradition, and is notable for granting political rights to women as early as 190235, Australian legislation has enforced a publicly racist policy, notably through the Immigration Restriction Act which put a brake on non-white immigration in 1901. In “Aboriginal Australians: a history since 1788” (2010), Australian historian Richard Broome relates the early British settlement of Australia and its impact on the continent’s first inhabitants. On January 26th 1788, Port Jackson was the scene of unprecedented cultural encounters which was to become the introductive part of a terrible drama that slowly unfolded across the continent, as two very different peoples came face to face within a colonial framework. Australia was to become a British penal colony (Broome 2010: 15-16). When the British sails entered Port Jackson on January 26th 1788, the Eora – a fishing tribe who had been originally settling the foreshore that later became Sydney – did not remain passive; they were stunned and some raced with spears (idem.). The British observed a people almost as numerous as themselves, behaving shockingly and disrespectfully towards them, for the next two years they generally avoided the British. However, contacts did occur and tensions progressively arose (idem.). Broome reviews the determinant factors of contact between the British and the Aboriginal Australians, the first of them being that the British brought no treaty with them. Indeed, although the British offered treaties to Native American tribes in North America during wars there in the 1750s, and offered a treaty at Waitangi in New Zealand to the Maori in 1840, the British government offered no treaty to Australian Aboriginal landowners (Gocke 2013). Captain James Cook was ordered to take possession of convenient situations on a land of great extent in the southwest Pacific in the name of the King but with the consent of the inhabitants. But in the eyes of Cook, Aboriginal people who had neither clothing, permanent shelters, religion, government, agriculture nor interest in trade, were ‘like wild Beasts’ (Broome 2010: 18) and thus their consent was not necessary.

33 http://moadoph.gov.au/ Museum of Australian democracy at Old Parliament House 34 http://australia.gov.au

Besides, two views on land possession coexisted in the 18th century, one contended that a mere people’s presence on a land gave them ownership, so that all occupiers – even hunters and gatherers – were owners. A branch of this view held that both Indigenous owners and those who settled had shared rights to a land. However, the other view considered land as ‘waste’ until people acquired property rights when labouring the soil. Following the lead of Cook, the British government decided that non-farming Aboriginal people did not deserve the status of landowner and in this spirit chose not to offer a treaty (Broome 2010: 19). This nullified the rights of Aboriginal people and jeopardised the respect of their human rights from that moment on. The British brought their own value systems to Australia and judged Aboriginal people according to their own standards – which equals to epistemological racism, as previously discussed. They notably brought their own conception of land ownership which had been developed over the previous two hundred years in Britain, where communal title to lands deemed ‘commons’ had been eradicated by the state (see Enclosure Acts of the 1770s). In the 18th century Governor Phillip also issued grants of land to officers and freed convicts who chased Aboriginal people off what they deemed to be their property, with this the British conception of land property came to prevail. By the late 18th century, the Aboriginal population was already resisting the invader and violence arose. Pemulwuy, a warrior who led many raids against the British, remains notably a major figure of Aboriginal resistance. Broome emphasises that the land was taken physically by force as well as rhetorically through discourse. Indeed, the assertion of ownership was also implemented through the process of naming. British renamed the land after their own places, officials and politicians in their homeland. Because Aboriginal people were considered less advanced than Europeans, the British launched a Civilising Mission in the early 19th century (Broome 2010: 29). Australia’s first assimilation policy began then and following the advice of a missionary named William Shelley, a Native institution to educate children was established in 1814 which marked the beginning of the removal policy, while the Christian aspect of the Civilising Mission formally began in the 1820s (Broome 2010: 31). Within the political democratic context in place, the 20th century marks the beginning of an organised Aboriginal activism, characterised by its non-violent methods, complying to the democratic spirit in vigour. The first Aboriginal associations arose in the 1920s. The following section is largely inspired by a lecture of Professor Bronwyn Carlson at the University of Wollongong, within the course ‘Introduction to Indigenous Australia’ (fall 2015). From its beginning, Aboriginal political protest was based on a rhetoric of democracy and equality among humans. Indeed, the first Aboriginal political organisations emerging across the country during the 1920s and 1930s aimed at reclaiming civil and political rights for Aboriginal people via democratic processes such as petitioning the government or demonstrating. The emphasis was the defence of human rights and the rights of minorities, as illustrated by the solidari- ty demonstrated toward Jewish people after the dramatic events of the Cristal Night36. Indigenous activism progressively became national and shifted to organised political movements. Among the most notable organisations, one can quote the Australia Aboriginal Progressive Association 1925, the Native Union 1926, the Australian Aborigines League 1932, the Australian Aborigines Association (AAA) 1928, the Aborigines Progressive Association (APA) 1937 and the Australi- an Aborigines Progressive Association AAPA 1924-1927. Formed in Sydney in 1924 under the leadership of Fred Maynard, a self-educated former herds- man, the AAPA was influenced by Black activists in the United States, and in particular by Mar-

36 On December 9th 1938 William Cooper led a delegation of Aboriginal people who walked from his home to the German con- sulate in Albert Road South Melbourne 59 cus Garvey. The the AAPA pushed for the restoration of lost lands, abolition of control by the NSW Aboriginal Protection Board and an end to the removal of Aboriginal children, demanded a royal commission into Aboriginal affairs in NSW. The AAPA tried to raise awareness about the struggle of Aboriginal people but was forced to abandon their work in 1927 due to constant har- assment by the police. Another important figure of Aboriginal activism, William Cooper (1861-1941) was an activist, organiser and relentless letter writer. He formed the Australian Aborigines League in 1932 to protest against the living conditions of Aboriginal people. In 1935 Cooper led a small delegation to petition the Federal Minister for the Interior asking for the representation of Aboriginal people in Parliament. The Federal Government failed to respond to these demands. Later, Cooper draft- ed a petition to be delivered to King George V, but the government did not respond. Cooper called for Australia Day 1938, which celebrates the British settlement, to be a day of mourning. Cooper worked with William Ferguson and Jack Pattern who had established the Aborigines Progressive Association (APA) in 1937. In order to gain public support for the Day of Mourning, William Ferguson and the President of the Aborigines Progressive Association Jack Patten, wrote a pamphlet entitled “Aborigines Claim Citizen Rights.” The many Aboriginal organisations coming to life at this time utilised a rhetoric based on historical arguments, reminding the settlers constantly that Aboriginal populations had been present on the continent for the last 40 000 years. These organisations did not make use of the rhetoric of the noble savage discourse, but contested the denial of their rights on the basis that Indigenous Australians were mere human beings, on the same level than Europeans. The AAPA was the first political organisation in Australia to create links between aboriginal communities throughout the countries. The idea of a pan-aboriginal identity emerged at this time. In effect, although various aboriginal tribes were not necessarily interacting prior to the European settlement, colonisation fostered unity between aboriginal tribes. Charles Perkins, a prominent political activist in Australia and leader of the anti-racist Freedom Rides, graduated from the University of Sydney and had thus received a British-Australian education. This enabled him to acquire a good savvy of the Western rhetoric. His arguments for a legal access to land and resources which had pertained to Aboriginal peoples for millenaries were thus mainly based on a discourse of human rights. In summary, Australian aboriginal activism has relied since its beginning on political tools pertaining to the realm of democracy and not on the romantic rhetoric advancing the idea of the ecological noble savage. Indeed, the tools utilized by the activists comprised of petitions, protests and strikes. Australian aboriginal activists were thus making use of the discourse saying “I am one of you and thus I deserve rights” rather than “I know better, I am different and thus I deserve to take care of this land”. Decades long of aboriginal activism across this huge country promoted the weaving of a mosaic aboriginal identity.

2. A mercurial aboriginal identity Unlike indigenous Amazonian people, from the onset of activism, Aboriginal Australians seem to have understood the dangers lying in essentialising the indigenous identity. Thus, in Australia, Aboriginal activism has not relied on the myth of the ecological noble savage but rather on the construction of a shifting and dynamic aboriginal identity (for instance, urban aboriginality) as expressed especially through the arts. Aboriginal Australians were confronted with urbanisation from the onset of colonisation, notably through the creation of major cities such as Sydney and Melbourne. Indigenous reactions to the urbanisation of Sydney were heterogeneous. Although a few Aboriginal men developed privileged relationship with the British, such as Bennelong (Broome 2010: 33), many individuals were starkly confused by the European invasion. A generation after the British settlement, the 60 indigenous communities who had survived stayed mostly around Sydney Harbour and survived by catching and selling fish along the foreshore, and mostly doing odd jobs (idem. p. 34). By the 1820s, very few Aboriginal Australians were appealed by the idea to join the colonial society in which their culture was doomed to be denied (Broome 2010:34-35). At this time, Aboriginal people were mostly perceived through a lens of dichotomy and essentialism, as I have previously discussed in part I. In the late 19th century, the image of wild indigenous Australians seduced the white audience as the story of Archibald Meston underlines. Mes- ton, a Scottish immigrant who became Protector of Aborigines in Queensland, took control of the sellable image of Aboriginal people – that he dubbed “Wild Australia”. In 1892, Meston’s ‘Wild Australia” was represented in the Brisbane Opera House (Walker 1997). The show which exploited the dichotomy between wildness and civilisation attracted a large crowd. Seduced by the physical condition of the Aboriginal Australians’, Meston wanted to preserve “the uncontam- inated ‘Noble Savage’ in situ” (Walker 1997: 42). However, Aboriginal Australians could soon realize that this admiration had a very perverse pitfall; indeed, those who did not match the cli- ché of the Noble Savage, and were contaminated by civilisation were to be removed to seques- tered reserves to spend the rest of their lives in isolation (Walker 1997: 42). Meston’s fascination for Wild Australia was thus painfully detrimental for those considered ‘contaminated’ because his systems of removals and segregation fostered the deaths of thousands of Aboriginal people in Queensland (Walker 1997: 43). Perhaps aware of the consequences of the Noble Savage image, Aboriginal Australians were urged to take on an identity that came to be resilient in the new urban life they were to embrace. In the early 20th century, urbanisation was to become a major aspect of aboriginal people’s lives in the twentieth century. Australian art historian Sylvia Kleinert thoroughly discussed the example of the Koories in south-eastern Australia and the dramatic changes that occurred in their lives when they left behind reserves and moved to towns and cities during the 1930s and 1940s (Kleinert 2006: 69). Progressive urbanisation was rather perceived positively by Aboriginal societies; many desired to escape isolation and to become part of the wider Australian community. Urbanisation challenged Aboriginal identity and forced Koories to become resilient Although urbanisation threatened Koorie identity, during the era of high assimilation from the late 1930s to 1970 (idem.), Kleinert concludes from her analysis of Koories photographs Koories were able to re-create their identities (idem.). Her paper emphasises the gap between the rhetoric of assimilation policies and the reality of Koorie life and society. Kleinert encourages reconsidering the photographic medium within contemporary debates on colonialism, race and representation, drawing on the insights of writers such as Edward Said and Michel Foucault. Indeed, photography tends to misrepresent and essentialise others, but urban aboriginal identity cannot be contained by essentialist representations because it stands out as shifting and dynamic (Kleinert 2006). Aboriginality is a field of inter-subjectivity that is constantly remade in the process of dialogue, of imagination, of representation, and interpretation (Langton 1994). In colonial contexts, these identities are contested. As cultural theorist Stuart Hall affirmed cultural identities have histories and undergo constant transformation (Hall 1990: 225, quoted in Kleinert 2006). Art historian Ian McLean evokes a shift in strategy which occurred in the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s as Aboriginal political struggles for equality and recognition began to make use of the cultural card, using their culture as a way to assert their identity (Kleinert 2010). By the late 1940s, political activist Bill Onus significantly influenced the shift of aboriginal activism towards a conscious utilisation of the cultural card. Because Koories could not maintain a full cer- emonial life, they transformed their corroborees37 into theatrical spectacles and thus created a

37 Australian Aboriginal dance ceremonies, it can be a sacred ritual or an informal gathering 61 new kind of communal gathering. These communal gatherings or concerts became political per- formances. The Australian Aborigines League sponsored a series of Corroboree at Wirth’s Olympia in Mel- bourne. From 1948 onwards, the corroboree gradually became a professional entertainment. Po- litical activist and president of the Australian Aborigines League Bill Onus, came to realise that individual Aborigines such as the visual artist Albert Namatjira, the actor Robert Tudawali, and the singer Harold Blair, who had succeeded in their own fields had the potential to change public opinion towards Aboriginal Australians. Onus believed that “the best way of getting recognition was to present them culturally to the public” (Corroboree Season 1949, Wirth’s Olympia, Mel- bourne, Lin Onus Collection, quoted in Kleinert). The Corroboree Season 1949 enabled Koories Indigenous people to acquire pride in their culture, and embrace their shifting identity while cel- ebrating their traditions rooted in the past. Bill Onus understood that Aboriginal Australians had to gain pride in their own culture and to choose how to represent themselves, instead of being defined by others as it had been the case before. Bill Onus also established Aboriginal Enterprises in 1952, a tourist outlet on the outskirts of Melbourne, which provided employment opportunities for many Aboriginal people and enabled them to take pride in their culture. That too contributed to the construction of an Urban Aborigi- nality. Aboriginal Enterprises manufactured artefacts and furnishings, imported paintings and didgeridoos from Arnhem Land and sold a range of other small objects (Kleinert 2010). The enterprise reached international fame and Bill Onus was even invited by the American producer Walt Disney (idem.). I suggest that representation of Aboriginal people that self-representation enabled Aboriginal Australians to take more distance from an identity, deemed fixed in time by others. While play- ing on the ‘wild’ aspect of Aboriginal culture, the image of the savage was dramatized by Abo- riginal Australians who made it very clear that this image was only that, an image and not an immobile identity. Hence, urban Aboriginal Australians were aware that although savagery could be used to attract attention from Europeans, it was no more than an image. The representation of Corroborees figuratively represented Aboriginal people as exotic savages just like Europeans expected them to be. I therefore suggest that the figurative representation of savagery displayed in theatres in Australia starkly differs from the literal representation of Kayapo as ecological noble savages. In the latter part of the 20th century, urban aboriginality became something much more flexible and volatile. Australian Aboriginal artists, such as Trevor Nickolls, Avril Quaill, Raymond Arone Meeks, Gordon Syron or Fiona Foley claim a much more hybrid identity. Contemporary aboriginal art has turned into a melting-pot fusing influences from all over Australia with western culture. This new trend has been illustrated by the urban Aboriginal artists cooperative Boomalli created in 1987 or the Earthworks, Lucifoil or Garage Graphix collectives (Garry Jones 2015). Throughout those enterprises, the desire for self-definition held sway. This hybrid and dynamic Aboriginal identity paved the way for Australian Aboriginal land rights to be built on the solid grounds of human rights and not on the sloppy discourse of ecological noble savagery. This discourse led to much more successful conservation programmes as I will exemplify now with the case of the Dhimurru IPA.

3. Yolngu people and the success of the Dhimurru IPA As previously discussed, Aboriginal people have resorted to democratic strategies such as petitions in order to reclaim their land rights. In 1963, a Bark Petition was presented to the House of Representatives by the Yolngu people of Yirrkala in Arnhem Land (Hill 1995: 306). The Parlia- mentary Select Committee did not resolve the issue as the Yirrkala intended. However, the Yolngu people continued claiming their rights in a democratic manner, notably bringing to court 62 conflicts over land sovereignty. This democratic way of reclaiming land rights encouraged the creation of Indigenous Protected Areas (IPAs) allowing Aboriginal people to manage their traditional lands. In this section, I will review the success of the Dhimurru IPA. Similarly to the Kayapo of Brazil, the Yolngu people of Arnhem Land also had to face threats on their territory caused by industries harmful to the environment. Indeed, the most profound exter- nal impact on Yolngu people has come from mining (Dhimurru 2009: 35). Although until the 1950s, northeast Arnhem Land was protected from the outside world by its regional remoteness and difficult access (idem.), the discovery of one of the world’s largest bauxite reserves on the Gove Peninsula jeopardised the continuity of Yolngu cultural life and land ownership (idem., quoting Morphy 1991: 31). Special mining leases were granted from 1958 and 1962 (idem.). According to Kauffman (1998: 42), a consortium of Swiss and Australian firms called Nabalco was formed in 1964 to mine the bauxite ore body. In 1963, the Yirrkala people forwarded a bark petition to the federal Parliament in Canberra to mark their concern (Dhimurru 1999: 30). Alt- hough the petition elicited a sympathetic report from the Joint Parliamentary Committee, the Commonwealth and Nabalco concluded an agreement in 1968 (Dhimurru 1999: 31; Morphy 1991: 31). The Yolngu people unsuccessfully appealed the effect of this agreement in the North- ern Territory Supreme Court and by 1973, Nhulunbuy, a new mining township comprising a permanent population of non-Aboriginal residents was established (Dhimurru 1999: 32; Wil- liams 1986: 157-191). The Nabalco feasibility studies (see Gilbert 1973, 235-244, or Wells 1982) contain no reference to consultation with the Yolngu traditional owners regarding significant cultural heritage places. As a result, no contemporary base line data exist that could provide a basis for measuring the extent of the impact of mining activity on heritage places. With Milirrpum v. Nabalco Pty Ltd., the Yolngu people brought an action against the Nabalco Corporation which secured a twelve year mining lease from the Federal Government. Yolngu people did not, however, resort to the image of ecological nobility nor to international public opinion in order to counteract the alliance between Nabalco and the Commonwealth. In their petition before the court, Aboriginal people asserted that their occupation of the Gove peninsula predated the Crown’s acquisition of sovereignty over Australia, thus utilising a historical argument and not the political tool of ecological nobility. The Plaintiffs wanted to enjoy full rights on their land, free from interference pursuant to their native title rights. However, Justice Blackburn of the Northern Territory Supreme Court ruled in the Milirrpum case in favour of the mining company claiming that this principle was “a matter of law which could not be overturned by a reconsideration of historical evidence” (idem.): “Blackburn J categorically held that native title was not part of the law of Australia and went on to add that even had it existed any native title rights were extinguished. Additionally if extinguish- ment had not occurred the Plaintiffs were unable to prove the elements required to establish native title. However, the Judge did acknowledge the claimants’ ritual and economic use of the land and that they had an established system of law. Until overturned by Mabo two decades later, the law on native title remained as enunciated by Blackburn J.”38 Even though the Yolngu aspired to rights over their traditional land, they could not obtain satis- faction for native title was not part of the law of Australia as stated above. However, a few years later, the Australian Labour Party took up Aboriginal land rights in the 1970s. Prime Minister Gough Whitlam, leader of the Labour Party, appointed Justice Woodward to inquire into appro-

38 http://www.atns.net.au/agreement.asp?EntityID=1611 63 priate ways to recognise Aboriginal land rights in the Northern Territory. To Woodward, Aborig- inal land rights could enable simple justice to a people who had been deprived of their land without their consent and without compensation, to promote social harmony and stability within Aus- tralia, to enable the preservation of the spiritual link with the land, and to improve Australia’s standing among the nations of the world by demonstrating fair treatment of an ethnic minority (clc.org.au). Justice Woodward also recommended to preserve and strengthen Aboriginal interests over the land, especially when it has a spiritual dimension. Woodward asserted the right for Aboriginal landowner to oppose mining projects on their territories. The recommendations of Justice Woodward formed the basis of the Aboriginal Land Rights (Northern Territory) Act of 1976, which finally came into force on January 26th 1977 (idem.) Indeed, the question of Australian Aboriginal land rights has been paramount in the latter part of the 20th century (Hill 1995: 303). The Aboriginal perspective of land differs starkly from the British conception of ownership of the land, however the attachment to the land and the spiritual connection to ‘country’ is similar for various Aboriginal communities around Australia. As research involving Aboriginal culture suggests, loss or despoliation of aboriginal land can cause a diminished sense of self (idem. 310). The ALR Act of 1976 contained provision for a veto of mining on traditional lands by Aborigi- nal people as well as the establishment of the Land Commission to determine clan ownership of un-alienated crown lands. The ALR Act of 1976 paved the way for Eddie Mabo and four other Meriam people to claim their traditional land rights before the High Court of Australia in 1982. Mabo v. Queensland challenged the 1879 annexation on the basis of communal native title. The State of Queensland reacted to this threat by passing the Queensland Coast Islands Declaratory Act of 1985. By a small majority, the High Court found the legislation invalid because it “violat- ed section 10 of the Racial Discrimination Act of 1975, which forbids denying traditional legal rights because of race” (Hill 1995: 307). This decision enabled to challenge the doctrine of terra nullius before the High Court. On June 3rd 1992, over ten years after the issue of the writ, the High Court recognised the invalidity of the terra nullius doctrine upon which the spoliation of aboriginal lands had proceeded (idem.). Following the Mabo decision, any clan or kinship group in Australia which had maintained a connection to the land could assert a native title unless it had been validly taken away by the state or Commonwealth government (Hill 1995). This fundamental decision rapidly provoked major conflicts between federal and state governments, Aboriginal people, farmers and pastoralists, and the mining industry against one another. In this context, traditional negative stereotypes of Aboriginal people were utilised in order to declare them unworthy of political rights or land rights. Racist fears of Aboriginal people ‘claiming your backyards’ spread among the population (Garry Jones 2015). But one must bear in mind that although Aboriginal people claim a particular spiritual connection to their lands, they are not necessarily opposed to mining projects, and abstain from utilising the discourse of ecological noble savagery. Hill presents an illustrative quote from an aboriginal woman that shows the general desire to share the land: ““I mean we’re not going to say ‘You can’t come in here! You can’t go fishing!’ or anything like that you know, and probably this major mineral deposits here somewhere, and if it’s the last mineral deposit on earth, in Australia, we’ll probably [say] ‘Yeah go ahead and dig it up, if you need it” (Hill 1995: 319). This woman’s allocution suggests that the spiritual connection that Aboriginal Australians have with their land cannot be related to conservation. Indeed, she is willing to share environmental resources with for-profit corporations and accepts the mining of mineral deposit. Thanks to the Mabo decision of 1992, Aboriginal Australians have thus acquired rights on their lands without resorting to the discourse of ecological nobility. This has allowed several communities throughout Australia to gain recognition of land management. Eventually, this led to the creation of 64 partnerships through Indigenous Protected Areas (IPA) which seem to be a success story, as attested by the case of the Dhimurru IPA. Because Australian Aboriginal people made their first legal claim to traditional ownership of land under their own customary law in Northeast Arnhem Land (Smyth et al. 2010), Dhimurru IPA is especially interesting to understand the process and history of land rights claims. The pas- sage of the Aboriginal Land Rights (NT) Act 1976, enabled former Aboriginal reserves in Arn- hem Land, including the land in the Dhimurru IPA, to be transferred to Traditional Owners. Ac- cording to the Central Land Council’s website, the Aboriginal Land Rights Act has provided land for many Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory and so enabled them to re-establish or maintain their cultural identity (clc.org.au). The same source states that the act has allowed the peaceful and responsible development of the Northern Territory and helped avoid violent confrontations between local indigenous landowners and developers experienced in other parts of Australia or other countries. The Dhimurru Land Management Aboriginal Corporation, now simply called the Dhimurru Ab- original Corporation, was established in 1992 by members of 11 Yolngu (meaning Aboriginal clans) which later became 13 clans. The Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation is an organisation merely regrouping Traditional Owners who undertake land and sea management responsibilities on behalf of the 13 clans whose lands and coastal waters are comprised within the IPA area. Alt- hough the organisation receives assistance from outside organisations, it does remain independent in its functioning. The Yolngu people entertain a special relationship to their land. The first permanent settlement by Yolngu people was established in the vicinity of the Gove Peninsula was established in November 1935. Yirrkala Mission was implemented by the Meth- odist Overseas Mission,15 kilometres east of Melville Bay. Although the newcomers displayed some degree of tolerance for Yolngu tradition the mission policy was to implement a sedentary agrarian economy on a hunter-gatherer way of life. This had disastrous consequences for Yolngu people and soon intergroup fighting and killings erupted between various East Arnhem Land groups. In a 1937 report to the Commonwealth government, anthropologist Donald Thomson declared that most of the troubles faced by indigenous people in Arnhem Land were due to the interference of intruders in the reserve. Thomson advocated to let Yolngu people self-manage (quoted in Dhimurru 2009: 34). Thus, the idea of setting boundaries for a territory in which Yolngu people could self-determine and manage their traditional land was already in germination in the 1930s. Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation is guided by a few principles which include a commitment to conservation and enhancement of the region’s natural and cultural values in a way that reflects its Yolngu owners and their aspirations, a commitment to sustainable and collective form of land and sea management that is representative of and determined by its Yolngu owners and that de- rives conservation strategies from a mutual investigation of Ngapaki and Yolngu systems of knowledge, a commitment to the continued development of positive interactions with the non- Aboriginal world and sponsoring of cooperative, respectful, educative and mutually beneficial relationships. Dhimurru currently employs 13 traditional owners and 4 non-Indigenous staff. The Northern Land Council (NLC) was instrumental in helping to establish Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation and continues to play an advisory role when required. Although the Northern Territory Government sought to establish a national park in Cape Arnhem in joint management with the Traditional Owners throughout the 1990s, the latter repeatedly refused the park idea in order to retain sole management of their lands. The various clans belonging to the Dhimurru Aboriginal Corporation discussed the concept of IPAs developed in the late 1990s and decided together to establish the Dhimurru IPA which was formally declared in 2000. This case-study shows that Aboriginal people maintained a total autonomy and independence in the establishment of this IPA.

In Australia, IPAs are lands declared as protected areas by indigenous peoples who commit to take responsibility for their conservation and management (Smyth et al. 2010). Since the first IPA was established in Australia in 1998, 64% of all new protected areas in Australia have been IPAs, they now represent about 20% of protected areas across the country (idem.). IPAs are managed by indigenous peoples according to the protected area guidelines of the World Com- mission on Protected Areas of the IUCN, and are partly funded by the Australian Government’s IPA Programme of the Department of the Environment, Water, Heritage and the Arts (DEWHA). IPAs provide an innovative approach to the management of protected areas, that complements the system of government-declared and managed national parks and marine parks. Through the IPA programme, large areas of ecologically and culturally significant land previously unrepresented in the National Reserve System (NRS) have been brought under protected area management (idem.). The Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area (IPA) was established in 2000 after Yolngu Tradition- al Owners made a voluntary IPA declaration over about 101, 000 ha of their traditional country (http://www.dhimurru.com.au/our-ipa.html); it is located on Aboriginal owned-land surrounding Nhulunbuy in the Northern Territory. Thirteen Yolngu (Aboriginal) clans own the Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area. Dhimurru IPA embodies a symbiosis between Yolngu values, community values, environmental values and unique natural features. The landscape unites the people with their ancestral past with the present spiritual and natural world. According to Smyth et al. 2010, the area is a source of social connectedness, responsibility, sustenance and shelter. The Dhimurru report (1999: 28) notes that during the time of mission presence at Yirrkala, Yolngu people took refuge in resource-rich areas where people maintained seasonal hunting and gathering, and a group even set up a period of permanent residency. The area comprises a very important high plant diversity, assemblages of certain animal species, important feeding and nesting sites for seabirds and for a number of threatened species of marine turtle. The IPA provides recreational, camping and fishing opportunities to residents of Nhulunbuy and the opportunity to promote reconciliation and cultural understanding through the interpretation of Yolngu beliefs and values to visitors. Indeed, although their lands were affected by miners’ activities and families who had settled in Nhulunbuy since the establishment of a bauxite mine in the 1970s, the Aboriginal Corporation set up a permit system enabling Nhulunbuy residents and tourist to visit designated areas for recreation. Through the sale of permits, Aboriginal people are able to meet the costs of managing the recreation areas (Dhimurru 2009: 83). Later, in April 2013, the Yolngu Traditional Owners dedicated additional areas of their land and sea country to Dhimurru Indigenous Protected Area, increasing its size to 550,000 hectares (http://www.dhimurru.com.au/our-ipa.html). This illustrates the initiative to conserve resources does come from the community. It is a clear case of self-determination. Dhimurru Aboriginal corporation’s case stands out because it has sole responsibility for the Dhimurru IPA. Over fifteen years of operation, it has developed funding, technical and cooperative partnerships with several government and non-governmental organisation that contribute to the IPA’s management. The Dhimurru IPA management plan embraces a two-way approach, which means a commitment to using both skills and knowledge of Aboriginal tradition and contemporary sciences. The success of Dhimurru relies on the longstanding and ongoing commitment by traditional owners to care for their country, to sustainably manage all the cultural and natural values of their traditional land and sea estates39. Finally, in May 2013 the Dhimurru IPA

39 The Dhimurru Indigenous Area Cultural Heritage Management Plan (CHMP) is the final stage of a process initiated and guided by Yolngu traditional owners and the Dhimurru board. This plan will enable the identification, conservation, and sustainable management of Indigenous cultural heritage resources in the Gove Peninsula region with specific focus on the Dhimurru IPA and should significantly reduce the risk of harming indigenous cultural heritage places (Dhimurru IPA 2009: 7). The sacred Sites Act protects Yolngu sacred sites, therefore only certain information can be provided to the public, a statement of significance and the name of places that are registered sacred sites (idem., p. 27). Yolngu people have not however been the only actors to shape the 66

Sea Country Management Plan was launched at the World Indigenous Network Land and Sea Managers’ Conference in Darwin (http://www.dhimurru.com.au/our-ipa.html).

environment. The Dhimurru report acknowledged the influence of Macassan contact (Dhimurru 2009: 31). Besides contact with the Macassan, Yolngu people also started interacting with Japanese as early as the 1920s. At this time, Yolngu people again began to trade with foreigners. (report p. 34). A combination of poor working conditions, exploitation of Yolngu women rapidly created conflicts between Yolngu and Japanese people (p. 34).

CONCLUSION

In this thesis, I have argued that the claim of indigenous ecological nobility fosters an unethical kind of environmentalism relying on power dynamics between white environmentalists and complex, heterogeneous and changing indigenous peoples. The ecological noble savage idea is based on epistemological racism which has been subtle within environmental movements’ discourse since the 19th century. Dichotomies between nature and men led to essentialism regarding Indigenous societies. If the most archaic form of essentialism, which described Indigenous peoples as barbaric and inferior, gradually disappeared after the Second World War, the most positive form of essentialism as- cribing them the role of ecological noble savages has resisted up to today. Indeed, it is much harder to dismantle positive stereotypes than negative ones. Attachment to place and traditional ecological knowledge of a certain region are undeniable but, as I have argued here, the belief that indigenous peoples are intrinsically conservation stewards is a myth, in which we should not buy if we want to adopt an ethical approach to protecting our world free from power dynamics. If we do not want to fall into the trap of racism, hegemony, neo-colonialism and domination, it is essential to rethink environmentalist attitudes towards In- digenous Peoples. The ecological crisis we currently face calls for a common response and a common concern. It is every nation’s responsibility, as well as every individual’s duty to protect our threatened Earth. I suggest that it is time to reconsider a more inclusive way to conceive environmentalism, not based on differences but based on our common destiny as humans. Indeed, in this thesis I have tried demonstrating that stereotypes - even positive - towards Indige- nous peoples have been a source of misunderstandings and confusion within the conservation movement. It seems that the main task lies in finding the right balance between human species and non-human species. The quest for ecological protection might be the quest for the balance between species. Alliances between environmentalists and indigenous peoples should be questioned because of their history of ambivalence and failures and contentious confrontations. As I have tried to highlight, land rights relying on conservation aptitudes are doomed to failure and those two concepts should not be mixed and misused. Comparing land rights struggles for indigenous peoples in Amazonia and Australia triggers a reflection about ethical land rights policy in the 21st century. Land stewardship has been used as a political tool, appealing to various stakeholders, to policy- makers in global environmental governance, to scientists working for conservation programmes as well as to Indigenous peoples themselves. However, ecological nobility has presented many dangers and shortcomings when used as a political tool. Traditional ecological knowledge and community-based conservation have sometimes been disregarded or abused by policy-makers. Locked in a role of ecological noble savages, indigenous peoples have not benefited from self- determination as much as they could have expected given the United Nations declarations. An ethical environmental activism is utterly necessary in the 21st century. The overwhelming ecological crisis we are confronted with today is a common responsibility to all human inhabitants of the planet Earth. The solution should not rely on divisions but on unions between all of us because we are all equally concerned and none of us is more responsible than the Other, certainly not Native peoples who in terms of greenhouse gases emissions rank far behind those of western nations. 68

From the comparison of Kayapo and Yolngu discourses, it is possible to conclude that an indigenous society can acquire autonomy and self-determination when it resorts to historical arguments of land ownership, rather than a rhetoric based on a myth of ecological nobility. It appears that when an Indigenous people claims rights on a land proceeding on historical arguments, the upshots differ starkly from those of an argumentation based upon a myth of ecological nobility. The political tool of ecological nobility renders anyone vulnerable to critics. The Kaya- po have put themselves in a very risky situation where they are prey to harsh criticism on behalf of the international community. The fact that Yolngu people did not base their discourse on the crumbling argument of eco- nobility but rather on historical and legal arguments in the first place have allowed them to make better use of the concept of community-based conservation. Community-based conservation should thus complement indigenous land rights, not constitute their only basis. Besides, Aborigi- nal Australians try to back their claim to land rights with historical evidence. This topic is extremely controversial but today a growing branch of research aims at demonstrating that Aborig- inal Australians are indeed indigenous to Australia (see Klyosov and Rozhanskii 2012). Currently, a project to turn the Amazon rainforest into an international rainforest park is submit- ted to head of states of the South-American countries affected. This project should enable to conserve the main species of flora and fauna in the Amazon (see Avaaz e-mail on this project). Alt- hough this project seems absolutely laudable, once again, William Cronon’s compelling warning not to worship the wilderness should be kept in mind. While protecting Amazonian species may be crucial, other issues which have to do with environmental justice as well as clean energy, air and water pollution, food contamination etc. might be more pressing. Indeed, the idea of preserving an illusory pristine nature when trash mountains are rising in urban areas in India, China, Thailand and the United States, might seem a bit quirky. Restoring the quality of air and water in urban areas, promoting sustainable agriculture, enabling more people to grow their own food, reducing waste in the North appear to be more pressing priorities. If we agree that nature does not know any border and that all spaces are inherently intermeshed (see White 1999), the idea of turning the Amazonian rainforest into an international park makes sense. However, entrusting the park’s protection to Amazonian Indigenous communities would not spare anyone from the dangers of essentialism. Assigning them with the responsibility of protecting the park could be detrimental both to Indigenous peoples and to conservationists. As discussed previously, those various stakeholders do not necessarily share the same world views and the same understandings of conservation. Native Amazonian peoples are not noble savages, and expecting too much from them may be another form of essentialism. Although stereotypes die hard, I call for a truce in the ecological noble savage debate. In face of the unprecedented crisis that is a challenge to our generation, it seems absolutely unrealistic to expect indigenous peoples to protect the world from its looming destruction. We are all indigenous to a place, and nobody has ever been expelled from Paris or London for throwing garbage on the ground.

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